


Shinobi Grim Dawn

by Kiwi_Du



Category: Grim Dawn (Video Game), Naruto
Genre: AU, Fantasy, Gen, Namikaze Minato Lives, No Uchiha Massacre, OOC, Smart Uzumaki Naruto, Strong Uchiha Sasuke, Strong Uzumaki Naruto, Uchiha, Uchiha Sasuke & Uzumaki Naruto Friendship, Uzumaki Kushina Lives, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26299258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiwi_Du/pseuds/Kiwi_Du
Summary: A world that survived the Apocalypse. A world invaded by hordes of demons from other dimensions. They invaded and were repulsed.Two men who with their deadly art paved the way for humanity to win. Two people who were no longer needed after the victory.Fate gave them a second chance in another world. A world where people like them are respectfully called S-rank. How will the history of this world change if the place of those who were to define it is taken by a sword master and a necromancer?
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Шиноби Мрачного Рассвета](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/678889) by ineos. 



> \- Naruto's Canon changes radically right in the prologue.  
> \- Several moments changed arbitrariness author: Edo Tensei there is no, not was and not will; shadow clones change - no cheat training, and at all so-itself technique; perhaps I'll change later on rinnegan. Why? Because 42.

The small woodland between two hills had seen better days. Once, hundreds of birds nested in the trees that grew here, wild boars could be found in the undergrowth, and a bear's den was hidden in the roots of an old oak tree. But that time has passed. The dead, crown-less trees froze sullenly in the still air. The oppressive atmosphere of this place was not disturbed, not only by the trills of birds, but even by the ringing of the ubiquitous midges.

You didn't need to be a magician or an expert in occult science to find the reason why this once thriving area was in such a deplorable state. Even the most incompetent blind man could feel the crimson vortex of the portal to the chthonian plane sucking the life out of the surrounding world.

Years have passed since its inception here. Long ago, the grass in the clearing turned to dust, where a hole opened into another dimension. The trees nearest her were black and petrified. In the nearby undergrowth there were bleached bones of animals that had not managed to escape at the time of the cataclysm.

However, it was not the portal that finished off the forest, but those who came out of it. Legs, tentacles, paws, and even more unimaginable limbs trampled what was not destroyed by alien magic. The stone-armored titans broke through the clearing, sweeping away the trees that stood in their way like reeds. Demon carcasses dripping with poison and acid poisoned the soil, and legions of smaller creatures devoured all life for many leagues around.

But that time has also passed. Legions of aliens spilled out of the portal, left, but never returned. For a while, the portal remained alone in its perpetual motion. But now his privacy was broken. This time, people.

The air was filled with a noise that was understandable and easily recognizable to anyone who had ever pulled a soldier's strap. The cursing of sergeants, the roll call of sentries, the noise and ringing of the camp being broken up by an army unit. About a hundred people were busily settling into a temporary Parking lot, undeterred by the inhospitable place or the eerie portal. Black uniforms, with iron discipline. A single glance would have been enough for an Imperial to recognize the Black Legion. Once the place of exile of penal guards, criminals and other trash. And now the famous Imperial guard, who passed the crucible of the Grim Dawn, stood on the ruins of Kairn and managed to revive the Empire. Well, or just the former on the back of the Heroes of Dawn, while they were saving the world.

Depending on the narrator's likes.

At the very same door on a different plan is located colorful four.

"First-class portal, stable. I don't think it will be difficult to seal it."

The man who uttered these words was an old man. He was a small man, and he seemed a complete stranger to the group, for the men standing next to him were solidly built and clearly no stranger to military matters. His attire was a mixture of the utilitarian comfort of a soldier's doublet and the pretentiousness of the Magi's robes, so dear to the heart of any enchanter in the capital. On the numerous belts, bands, and thongs that dotted the subject's clothing were innumerable notebooks, obscure tools, suspicious-looking crystals, and many other things that the uninitiated did not understand. In General, he was what he appeared to be – a specialist in magical science, who had just examined the portal to the chthonian plane and was now reporting the results.

"How long will it take you to prepare?"

The only one who listened carefully to the specialist was much more remarkable. Light armor with chainmail reinforcement in vulnerable places might seem like just high-quality protection made for an experienced warrior on special order. Only the runes and markings that dotted its surface, visible only to the gifted, made it clear that it was more than that. Eight revolvers in two belts, four under each arm, would not have seemed ordinary to anyone. Incised with intricate engravings, and with a suspicious glimmer escaping from the chambers, this weapon simply screamed that its owner was not simple. The point in determining the identity of the shooter was put by a modest sign pinned to the shoulder of the armor. An equilateral cross inscribed in a double circle. Inquisitor.

"No special training is required – we can start at any time. As soon as the gentlemen are finished, we'll seal it in five minutes."

"Don't stray too far, we'll be quick," the third person in the conversation said with a condescending grin.

In many ways, the man was reminded of the Inquisitor. The same tall stature, the same solid build, giving away a person intimately familiar with the martial arts. But he looked more dangerous. Two swords in a scabbard on his back, which clearly smelled of magic not light and good. A suit of armor heavier than the Inquisitor's, though not yet the equivalent of lat. If only a gifted person could see the magic filling in the arrow's armor, then the gift was not necessary to understand the complex nature of this armor. The clearly visible glow of runes and enchantment schemes, the large storage crystals embedded in the belt-all this simply screamed that the warrior was carrying a fortune, embodied in an incredibly powerful complex of magical protection. For someone else, the demonstration of such significant values could end sadly. But it is unlikely that there would be a suicide in all of Kairn who would risk stealing something from the only living Grand master of the sword. And even if there was one, and even by some miracle could carry out the theft of the century, their own brothers in the craft would hang the idiot and return the equipment to the owner with apologies. After all, the grandmaster was one of the two people who gave a chance for life to humanity, which, after all, includes the thieves.

"Of course, master Ulgrim," the older mage said, choosing to keep his opinion of the fighters ' capabilities to himself. However, glancing at the fourth member of the group, he was forced to admit to himself: with _this_ man involved, the cleanup was hardly difficult.

"When do you leave?" the Inquisitor looked at Ulgrim.

"Warcaster?" He glanced at the still-impassive figure.

The fourth of the group was wrapped in a long cloak, hiding his face under a hood. At first glance, his equipment seemed modest compared to the work of art that protected Ulgrim. Yes, the enchanted doublet and other clothing, Yes, the cloak was stitched with threads that formed patterns. Around her neck was an amulet with dull purple stones. But the fabric is quite ordinary, and the work is clearly not so fine – an experienced craftsman might assume that the magician himself enchanted his equipment. And he would have been right. Here is only these nondescript on first glance things not times and not two forced turn pale and swerve with his path Archmages. For them, these schemes and unassuming artifacts just screamed-necromancer, warlock. Combined with the magical power this man was known for, it was a good, very good reason to get away.

"Ready" until this absent-mindedly wandering on terrain glance the necromancer focused, became tenacious and prickly.

"Then we won't delay. Early start, early finish. With that, Ulgrim turned and stomped toward the portal. The necromancer followed in silence. The Inquisitor paused and followed them. The portal specialist, finding that his participation was no longer required, went to his assistants, who were waiting at a distance.

When they reached the portal, the trio stopped.

"According to the cultists' interrogations, there is a creature at least comparable to Shar'Zul's in the lair behind the portal…"

"Yes, Yes, we have heard. Shar'Zul's is no longer our equal." Ulgrim interrupted creed, who was beginning to give an introductory speech " you seem to be repeating yourself today. Are you really worried about us?" The Grand master of the sword grinned.

Creed was really worried. That's just the reason was not the upcoming battle of the famous couple. Fortunately, he was spared the need to answer by Warcaster, who activated the Herald of Destruction spell.

The still-cloaked figure gave off an eerie smell that made even the soldiers standing guard a hundred meters away shiver. It was as if the necromancer had opened a portal directly to the _other side_. In fact, it was. This necromancy spell belonged to the last, fifth, circle and was available only to Archmages. The wizard who used it had one foot on the other side of death, radically enhancing his spells and acquiring certain properties that are more common to the dead than the living.

And the necromancer continued to prepare for battle. Blood of Dreeg, Spectral Binding, Solael's Witchfire… Different spells, different levels. Enhancing magic, protecting the body, sharpening the mind. They all had one thing in common – the terrifying amount of power the wizard put in. There was hardly another wizard who could simultaneously hold all these spells at this level of power. But this was only preparation – Warcaster still had to fight. And creed knew that he would use high-level offensive spells liberally, without looking back at the expenditure of power. And the spell already cast won't stop him in the least. Once again, the Inquisitor was struck by the power contained in the necromancer and his talent for manipulating completely alien energies.

Following the necromancer, Ulgrim also began to prepare, forgetting about his joking question. The amusement left his eyes. His face was a motionless mask. The movements became smooth and unnaturally precise. The warrior started a Fighting Trance. An indistinguishable movement, even for the eyes of the Inquisitor, and the warrior's hands are swords. Empty scabbards fall to the ground – in battle they will only get in the way. Another moment, and the drives in the armor begin to glow brighter, giving protection, switched to active mode.

After exchanging glances, Ulgrim and Warcaster walked in silence to the portal and disappeared in the faint flash of a triggered transition.

Looking at the endlessly moving vortex of the portal, Creed fell into thought. And his thoughts were not happy at all. When the main forces of the aetherials and chthonians were repulsed, and life in at least part of the Imperial provinces began to resemble life itself, rather than survival, the question of Empire management became acute. Yes, thanks to Ulgrim, who had saved the Emperor's infant heir in the cataclysm of Grim Dawn, they had a legitimate ruler. But he was too young to make decisions. As a result, after much debate, a Council was formed of the leaders of the factions that had made the greatest contribution to the restoration of the Empire. Creed was part of it, too, as head of what was left of the Imperial inquisitors. Many years have passed since then. For all its shortcomings, which stem from the inevitable disputes between people with radically different views of the world, the Council has proven its ability to make the right decisions for the benefit of the Empire and its people. At least, Creed was sure of it.

Until the Council decided it was time for Ulgrim and Nameless, Heroes of Dawn, to leave.

This decision has been matured for a long time. Ulgrim and Nameless, known in narrow circles as Warcaster. The warrior and the mage. Both of them went far beyond the limits of human capabilities in their art. Some considered them geniuses, some avatars of the gods, some the fruits of some experiments. With regard to Ulgrim, the latter assumption was even partially true.

Once a rich, powerful, and close to the throne family wanted to get a master of combat, the equal of which would not have been found in the vast expanses of Kairn. Magicians and scientists were involved. The best, in terms of heredity, representative of the genus was chosen. A bride was chosen for him, who was also able to give the future master the best possible legacy.

The preparation of the future legend began in the womb – it was waiting for a special diet, alchemical elixirs and magic rituals. Everything was aimed at ensuring that the child received the best possible physical data – the Foundation on which the future skill will be built. All these efforts were not in vain – Ulgrim demonstrated phenomenal strength, dexterity and endurance since childhood. Then, still very young, the talent fell into the hands of talented mentors, collected not by promises of money or other benefits, but by the opportunity to raise the ideal student. Someone who will absorb all the best from many schools of combat and become a master of the masters.

The plan was quite successful. At sixteen, he was a master sword. At eighteen, the Emperor's first blade. And in the nightmare of the Grim Dawn, when hordes of aetherials and then chthonians poured into Kairn, Ulgrim proved that he had earned these titles. It was he who pulled the young Emperor out of the captured capital, fighting his way through the hordes of ether-distorted mutants. He survived in the magic-ravaged wasteland, and traveled half the country in continuous battles, collecting survivors.

At what point did his abilities cross a certain line? Creed didn't know. When he had last spoken to ulgrim before the Grim Dawn, Ulgrim had certainly been a genius, a recognized master, but... Not the God Of The Sword, as some now called him.

When Creed met Ulgrim at the manor house near the Blood Grove, He was already capable of something incredible. As he watched, the swordsman deflected the bullet. No, of course, a well-trained fighter can Dodge a shot by seeing where the muzzle is pointing and leaving the trajectory at the right moment. But to fight off a bullet already fired with a sword? Besides, Creed was willing to bet his revolvers that Ulgrim could not see the cultist who had fired. Further more-the speed, such that the Inquisitor, who had passed the harsh school, could not notice the movements, regeneration, which healed the most severe wounds right in battle…

But if Ulgrim had been alone, the Council would have accepted His existence. In the end, its origin is clear, the story of the birth of the future grandmaster is also generally known. And as for superhuman abilities ... Well, how many secrets are kept by the Nightblades, the best killers in history? After all, their masters were also among those who trained Ulgrim. Yes, if it had been only Ulgrim, it might have been all right. But there was a Nameless one.

Creed remembered seeing the future hero for the first time. It was in the same God-forsaken manor, before he met Ulgrim. Those days were filled with despair and doom. The Inquisitor, along with the remnants of the Black Legion and the survivors of the surrounding inhabitants, was locked in the feeble fortifications of the local ruler. On the one hand - the cultists of Ch'thon, backed by demons, on the other-the hordes of monsters generated by aetherials. Creed remembered rushing to the South gate in response to the alarm raised by the guards. As he prepared to repel the next attack, wistfully turning over in his mind his coming-to-an-end supply of enchanted bullets and artifacts. And how surprised I was when I heard the soldiers admiring voice and cheers from the wall. As I ran up the wall, an amazing sight met my eyes. An unknown mage in a tattered cloak, wearing some kind of ridiculous armor, was fighting an entire squad of aetherials. No, it's not. He didn't fight them. He killed them. Methodically and inevitably. Creed had no trouble recognizing the spell the wizard was using – five-pointed stars, glowing purple in a circle, spread out in dozens across the ground. The Sigil of Consumption, a very popular spell among warlocks, not only sucks the life of those who fell into it, but also transfers part of the energy consumed to the caster for self-healing. However, he also knew about the energy intensity of this spell and was already wincing at the thought of a much-needed wizard collapsing with exhaustion and being torn apart by mutants. But the magician did not fall – after issuing several hundred seals and destroying all the aetherials in sight, he simply went to the gate and knocked.

Then there was a long conversation, the magician, as it turned out, did not remember his name, made a long and difficult way from the settlement that arose in the ruins of the prison "Devil's Crossroads". A local captain sent him to scout the way to the manor and request a caravan of supplies that the survivors desperately needed. Although, as the latter later admitted to Creed, He just wanted to get rid of the strange magician, not counting on him to be able to complete the task.

If they had met before Grim Dawn, Creed would have sent the Nameless one to the stake – the warlock skills he had demonstrated would have been more than enough for that. But the world had already changed, and the Inquisitor asked for help. And somehow, unexpectedly, previously unsolvable problems were suddenly solved. The mutants were gone, transformed into alchemical ingredients and fertilizers, and the cultists who had survived were gone. The wizard was everywhere and seemed to know no fatigue. To storm the camp of the cultists? Repel an ethereal attack? Clear a path to the remnants of the caravan in the wastelands? Nameless performed these tasks almost single-handedly.

Then Ulgrim came with a party of refugees. At some point, Creed realized that they were already advancing on the seemingly indestructible chthonians. Fort Haron, Fort Ikon, Plains of Strife. The Necropolis. Now the names of these places and the battles that broke out in them have become part of the Chronicles. A generation is already growing up for whom these are just lines in history textbooks. And for Creed, those memories were fresh. He remembered the advance of the Black Legion. He stepped on the corpses left behind by the pair from the Master Sword and, as no one doubted, the Archmage.

Then there was a lot of things. The battle in the Sanctuary Of Horan, the storming of the Bastion of Chaos, the release of Malmouth… And everywhere they went, Ulgrim and Nameless. The legend of the Heroes who saved Kairn was being born before creed's eyes, and he had to admit that without these two there would have been no rebirth. Humanity would have fallen to the onslaught of outsiders from other dimensions. The incredible abilities of two people paved the way to victory.

But those legendary times are over. Portals to other worlds are closed. Destroyed bastions of chaos and incubators of aetherials. The mighty leaders of the invasions have fallen. After decades of bloody bacchanalia, the land of Kairn was at peace.

At first, the Council was busy restoring order. The economy, civil institutions-in fact, everything had to be created anew. In the organizational chaos, everyone was not up to two battle monsters. Especially since they still had to deal with remote Islands and valleys that sheltered the remnants of invading armies, small portals to other dimensions. Although the main enemy forces were destroyed, there was still a lot of work to do.

And when everything more or less got better, and the Council finally paid attention to the characters, it suddenly realized that, in fact, it can not influence them in any way. The best killer in the world and a warlock who can, by then, destroy an entire army with a couple of spells. Not the kind of people you can push. As they began to unearth The nameless man's story, the Council became even more concerned.

No one knew who he was or where he came from. It's just that one day the Devil's Crossroads patrol captured an apparently ethereal-obsessed tramp. He was about to be hanged when a local spellcaster asked the village captain to allow her to conduct an experiment to exorcise an otherworldly spirit. The captain, seeing no reason to refuse, agreed.

Suddenly, the experiment was successful. The spirit left the body of the possessed man, and he even came to himself. He didn't remember anything about himself, not even his name. However, harsh times dictate harsh rules. The captain could not risk his men allowing a newly possessed man to enter the village, especially since his usefulness to the settlement was questionable. But just hang the Nameless one now... Many of his men wouldn't understand the captain. And then the recent possessed was given the task of killing the creature that had been bothering the village for some time. He'll do fine, another soldier. No – well, that's where he's going. After listening to the task with a melancholy look, Nameless left… Need I say that the creature in question did not live long?

Creed could never understand this in the actions of the Nameless one. With an indifferent air, he listened to the most improbable tasks and, sometimes specifying some technical points, went to perform them. Storm a Fort full of fanatics? Stop the archdemon's challenge? Enter a one-way portal that leads to the abyss and find another way out? How many times had Creed given him seemingly impossible assignments? How many times had he waited for this strange man to look at him like an idiot and tell him to go away? But no. Time after time, Nameless received another order and, once again, did the impossible.

Strange, unsociable, withdrawn, obsessed with a former. A magician who seems to have used only the blackest magic on principle. The Council refrained from taking any action against him for three reasons. First, of course, the incredible power. A conflict with a mage of such power is extremely, extremely dangerous. Second, the hero's halo. Everyone knew about Nameless. And if ordinary citizens could be wary of a famous necromancer, the army idolized him. Far from lofty matters, the soldiers clearly understood that where the Nameless one had passed, they would only have to bury corpses. The job is dirty and hard, but it's safe. Otherwise, you can fight demons and mutants yourself, risking your own lives. The third reason why the necromancer was not touched was, oddly enough, that he was not seen in anything reprehensible, except, in fact, his magic. Which, given the composition of the Council, which included both a necromancer and a witch, was no great sin. Yes, surprisingly, the most powerful warlock and necromancer in the world was not seen either in sacrifices, or in experiments on people, or in any other attacks. The Council set up surveillance of the necromancer and limited itself to that. This went on for years.

The delicate balance was broken just a couple of months ago. The usual thing is the ruins of a small village, as the intelligence found out, occupied by a group of cultists. Nameless himself volunteered for this task and, having been accompanied by the squad of scouts that discovered the enemy, went into a fairly ordinary battle. He left the soldiers a day away, telling them not to approach the village, explaining that he wanted to test a new spell and did not want them to grazed.

From the point of view of the scout commander, everything went smoothly. The Nameless one left. He returned two days later and, after informing them that the cultists had been destroyed, ordered them to return.

The inquisitors, who are constantly checking every step of the necromancer, also did not expect anything special when paying a visit to the recent battlefield. They were well aware of what the magic of the Nameless one left behind. Dried corpses, crumbling to dust fortifications. All this was expected by them. But this time they found something else.

The trouble started a few leagues before the village. Suddenly, the Inquisition team found itself in a completely dead area. No, there was no dead grass, no fallen trees, or anything else so clearly visible to the Un-gifted. But the inquisitors, who were no strangers to magic, felt that there was not a drop of that elusive something that distinguishes the living from the dead. What we actually call life. Of course, all the cultists were dead, too. Their bodies were frozen, seemingly untouched, in the midst of normal daily activities, not combat. They clearly didn't even have time to react to the necromancer's attack.

The Council was notified immediately. The head of the Order of Death's Vigil and the high witch of the Coven of Ugdenbog studied the scene for a long time. Creed never got them to tell him what they had found. Figured it out. But they were no strangers to the magic of death, and for the first time they voted to eliminate the Nameless one, and Ulgrim with It. Even if they could be separated, and only a necromancer could be eliminated, it is unlikely that the grandmaster would be sympathetic to the murder of someone who was used to considering his best friend and with whom he had fought hundreds of battles.

The plan was simple and elegant – to lure overly strong fighters into the newly discovered portal and close it. The portal was the first one discovered in the last couple of years, and probably the last one left.

And now Creed stared into the endless vortex of the rift, hesitating, not daring to give the order to seal in the abyss those whom he was accustomed to call friends. But the Inquisitor went through a good school. "An Inquisitor is someone who does what he has to do, regardless of emotions and sympathies" - so his mentors once told him. Creed was a diligent student. The moment of uncertainty passed, and the Inquisitor signaled to the portal master and gave the order:

"Seal it."

The old mage did not elaborate or ask again. Although he was not aware of the Council's mission, this trip was specially selected for those who did not have any sympathy for the heroes and would not ask unnecessary questions.

A few minutes later, it was all over. The rift on another plane that had poisoned this forest for years had collapsed, leaving behind only the remnants of a disfigured nature.

Creed stood for a long time, looking at the place where the crimson vortex had been spinning endlessly. He stood there, turning over his memories again, mentally asking for forgiveness from those he had betrayed.

*** * ***

The chthonian plan met the newcomers with darkness, heavy, stale air, and a thick layer of unknown ash that covered everything around them. Black and crimson are the main colors of this plan. Black, broken rocks made entirely of obsidian. A black sky devoid of stars or moons. Crimson swirls of some kind of stone, emitting a dim glow. And a crimson glow on the horizon, where the island that hung in infinity ended in what the magicians called the Abyss. The landscape was completed by odd bits of buildings scattered here and there, or even entire buildings torn from various planes of reality by the chthonians. A picture that has become commonplace for a warrior and necromancer over the years.

This time, however, the routine was broken. Usually, as soon as the intruders set foot on the local land, crowds of irrational and semi-intelligent creatures immediately rushed to them in order to profit from the delicacy that looked at the light in the face of a couple of people. Then, in response to the inevitable noise of the battle, the really dangerous local inhabitants – intelligent demons with their special perverted minds-were drawn up. But now, hanging in the void, the island greeted the guests with silence and desolation. After exchanging glances, Ulgrim and Warcaster went to search the area.

It took them almost half an hour to finally find the shelter of the local owner. The wreckage of some angular building, torn by the magic of the chthonians from some unknown world, became the refuge of a demon. But what kind of demon was it? Compared to Shar'Zul's, worthless, barely more than a man's height, and stripped of stone or chitinous armor. Instead of a lavish retinue of dozens of smaller sentient demons, only a few eaters – some of the weakest inhabitants of this plane-hovered around him. Perhaps the only thing this nonentity could boast of was a certain intelligence. It was enough to avoid trying to attack the aliens. However, the creature didn't have enough brains to hide somewhere more private. The torturers had obviously screwed up, taking the cultists ' stories about the demon that lived here at face value.

However pathetic it was, it was still worth destroying. A quick exchange of glances, a barely perceptible sign from the Nameless one, and Ulgrim breaks into battle. Warcaster was interested in the huge slab of chthonian runes that rose a little to one side of the demon. He headed for it, first destroying the eaters who were getting in the way with a single blow of Sigil of Consumption – the simplest attacking technique of necromancers.

In fact, the chthonian script was not considered decipherable. Completely alien to the human mind logic. Rules of writing closely intertwined with chthonian magic. For the cultists who worshipped them, the demons created a kind of simplified dialect in which they transmitted their will, as well as bits of knowledge about their perverse magic. However, Warcaster, based on his own knowledge of Abyssal magic, believed that he had found the key to understanding the demon language. And now he had a great chance to test his theory. Ulgrim can handle the local master on his own.

The demon tried to track both of his guests at once, but it was a mistake. Ulgrim did not miss the opportunity and attacked the distracted enemy. A tug so swift it was more like teleportation, and the sword cuts off one of the demon's limbs, which were used as arms. With a roar of pain, the creature focused on the master of battle, forgetting all about the necromancer. However, the forces were unequal. To Ulgrim, the demon was a clumsy and vulnerable carcass. The grandmaster's mind was habitually plotting attack paths and danger sectors. There were only a few others, and it was easy to avoid them. But the first ones were very numerous. All that remained was to choose and strike.

Warcaster had barely begun to analyze the inscriptions on the slab when he felt death behind him. As expected, the local demon couldn't do anything against the Master Sword.

Ulgrim approached the necromancer, who was staring thoughtfully at the slab.

"Going back?"

"I'd like to study it."

With a glance at the size of the slab, which clearly put an end to the idea of dragging it away with him, Ulgrim replied:

"All right, then, I'll find the return portal."

Ulgrim waited for an inarticulate grunt from the wizard, who was completely lost in thought, and then went back to wandering around the island that hung in the void.

The properties of the chthonian portals were such that when passing through them from the human world, travelers were not near the reverse fault, but at a considerable distance. Therefore, the absence of a portal at the exit point was not surprising. It was the search for this reverse transition that Ulgrim took up.

He became concerned when, a couple of hours later, he found nothing. However, not starting to panic ahead of time, he decided to once again comb the island. After a few more hours, the worry turned to confidence. There was no return portal. The island was not so large, and absolute memory assured Ulgrim that he had examined every possible place where the rift might fit.

It was hard to feel trapped on the chthonian plane. However, in the stormy past of the grandmaster, this has happened once before. And then Warcaster pulled it out. He just hoped he'd come up with something this time, too. And to drive away the idea that first-class portals do not disappear by themselves. Maybe the specialist called from the capital was incompetent? Or maybe… But Ulgrim did not allow himself to think of the last thought. They'll get out of here first. And then they will look for the culprits.

Warcaster Ulgrim found in the same place where he left the mage continued to stare at the runes streaked plate, twisted in his thoughts. Sensing his friend's return, the man turned to him:

"Almost finish."

"We have a problem."

Warcaster listened to Ulgrim brief story in silence. His face had been unreadable at the best of times, and now, under the influence of a lot of protective spells that were still active, his features looked frozen and inhuman.

After listening to the grandmaster, the wizard, after a short silence, gave only:

"I need to think about it."

He stared at the same slab again.

Sometimes he infuriated Ulgrim terribly with this detachment, taciturnity, and indifference to what was happening. But at times like this, when everything was hanging in the balance and the warrior was on the verge of panic, the presence of a friend whose emotions fluctuated at the level of a stool helped him recover and gather his strength. It was also good to know that the best mind he knew was already working on the problem.

Warcaster mind went back to the text on the slab in front of him.

All spells, at least in the schools known to him, were multidimensional figures in the mind of the magician. At first glance, everything was simple. I imagined a construction in my mind, turned to my power, passed it through this fantasy, and released the transformed energy into the real world through my body. However, the key to more powerful spells was multi-dimensionality. It is quite easy to imagine a three-dimensional figure in the mind. even an ordinary person, after some training, will be able to maintain concentration on the simplest sign. The elementary spells of the first circle were just three-dimensional. For powerful sorcerers, their use eventually became instinctive, requiring no concentration at all. The second circle included four-dimensional spells. This is a more non-trivial task. However, it is not difficult to guess that the spells of the fifth circle were already as much as seven-dimensional. Something unimaginable to the human mind. How did the Archmages cope with this? The answer lay in the so-called Clean Mind. Who and when created this method of meditation, was unknown. One thing all Kairn's spellcasters agreed on: he was a genius. With its help, through long and exhausting training, the magician transferred the mechanisms that ensure his self-awareness from the limited physical substrate that was the brain to the level of pure energies. And then the possibilities of thinking became limitless – only develop.

Returning to the plate with the chthonian script, Warcaster suggested that the chthonian script is a projection on the plane of magic figures, which, in turn, when activated, must somehow convey their contents to the reader. The key issue was the dimensionality of these signs. The research and experiments took years – this was not the only question that fascinated the magician, and the constant fighting did not allow him to fully devote himself to the search for knowledge. Nevertheless, Warcaster managed to finish the job. And today I received confirmation of my theory. In the text on the plate was imprinted a complex five-dimensional sign. The wizard had already replayed it in his mind, but he was in no hurry to activate it.

If the sortie had been normal, he would have stopped there now. The theory is confirmed, the sign is removed from the plate. You need to take your time to disassemble it into its components, understand what and how it should do… But life dictated its own rules.

The mage returned his attention to the structure held in his mind. He was concerned about certain elements of the spell presented. He knew them well. The warlock had several spells to summon the demons of the Abyss in his arsenal. Other than those who inhabit the chthonian plane, but still. Now, exactly the same elements in these spells were directly responsible for the summoning process itself.

On the other hand, Warcaster had seen such plates before. In The Bastion Of Chaos. It was near them that the portals to the deeper levels of that citadel were located.

After considering the situation they were in, the wizard was forced to admit that he saw no alternative but to try to apply the newly acquired knowledge in the hope that it would open the way for them... somewhere.

"Ulgrim."

The swordsman, who had taken a rest at a nearby rock, looked up at the mage.

"I will now activate the spell that was written on this slab. It may be related to portals, but I see it as a summoning element. Just in case, get ready."

Ulgrim didn't need to be told twice. Glad that the long wait was over, he was instantly alert, clearing his mind of empty thoughts and emotions. A short sign that indicates readiness. The swordmaster feels his friend release his magic, just a little, on the edge of Ulgrim sensitivity. The warrior tenses, ready to break into an attack, or to leave from under the blow… A second passes, another, a dozen… But nothing happens.

The mage's voice interrupted the wait:

"That's ingenious."

Still ready for battle, Ulgrim allowed himself a questioning glance at Warcaster. The latter, noticing his tension, said:

"Retreat."

"What happened?"

Warcaster paused, forming his thoughts. Although Ulgrim had an understanding of the magic system, as well as the gift, He was not a magician in the full sense of the word.

"It is indeed a summoning spell. And it summoning for pure knowledge of what the author of the inscription wanted to convey."

"So you know that now? What is it?"

"The stove is a portal generator. I received instructions for use."

"So we can get out of here?!" Ulgrim mood was rapidly improving. His friend, as always, did not fail, finding a way out of a seemingly hopeless situation.

"The portal can't be reconfigured, it leads to a strictly defined location. And I'm sure it's not Kairn. More like another island in the void."

"But there might be portals there, too?"

"Yes."

"So there's a chance of getting out."

The training camp was short-lived. Actually, the friends had nothing to collect. When they went out for a short sortie, they took only the smallest supply of water and food, such as they could carry in the pouches on their belts. Now, not knowing what to expect, they were destroying small supplies, coming to the conclusion that recuperating before stepping into the unknown is more important than trying to stretch out a meager ration for more time.

"Listen," the sight of the demon's carcass still lying nearby gave Ulgrim an idea "why was this one actually sitting here alone, and not going through the portal? Or did he not call his own people through him yet?"

The answer made the swordsman choke. Always a serious Warcaster sometimes, without realizing it, managed to give very funny comments:

"Maybe he couldn't read?"

When they had finished their brief rest, they went back to the stove.

"Are you ready?"

In response to the necromancer's question, Ulgrim only nodded, resuming his Fighting Trance. This time the surge of magic from the Warcaster had quite a visible result – a couple of steps from the stove, the painfully familiar vortex of the portal began to swirl.

*** * ***

When Ulgrim was younger, at the height of the war, he expected to meet his death in battle, among the mountains of corpses, perhaps even pathetically clutching with the last of his strength at the throat of the most important ethereal. Over time, as the enemy forces were destroyed and his own deadly art developed, this scene became less and less real. In recent years, Ulgrim had seen himself rather dying in the midst of his family, among a crowd of children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. And in fact, what could really threaten the best fighter in the world in Cairn? His pre-birth physique guaranteed him a long and healthy life. Well, about the number of women who are ready to warm the bed of the hero, and certainly to carry his child, and did not have to talk. What Ulgrim could not imagine was that he would die of thirst and hunger somewhere in the wilds of the chthonian plan.

Their March began cheerfully. The first thing they saw as they passed through the portal was a broken slab similar to the one Warcaster had read. It became clear why there were no other demons on the island they had left – they simply could not open the portal from this side. And the remaining demon might not have been able to reproduce the five-dimensional symbol that held the instructions for the portal stone. This time, the welcoming delegation was not long in coming – a minute later, with a cacophony of inarticulate screams, a whole crowd of lower demons attacked the friends.

Then went the usual work. Warcaster was hitting the area. The same Sigil of Consumption. But the power he put into the spell would have made any Archmage turn green with envy – the glowing purple stars inscribed in a circle were hundreds of meters in diameter. The lower ones simply evaporated under such blows. Ulgrim, on the other hand, routinely destroyed those who could survive these powerful, but still not targeted attacks. Obsidian titans, which are more of a living stone, devouring demons, themselves using the absorption of life-the targets of the swordsman were those who were resistant to the magic of the necromancer.

The travelers had just managed to destroy the Horde that attacked them when the owners of this island arrived on the battlefield. Oh, they were demons no match for the wretch their friends had left behind. Three powerful figures that reached a height of ten meters. Chained in chitin and stone, attacking immediately with fire and poison, they could be serious opponents.

However, either they did not feel the power of the magician, or they overestimated their strength, but the first of them immediately missed the spell of the Soul Eater. The spirit plucked from the _other side_ by the fifth circle spell clung to the demon's soul with a hunger unknown to any living being. Howling in pain, losing chunks of instantly rotted flesh on the move, the demon figure immediately ceased to pose a threat. The magic of the demons, on the other hand, broke powerlessly against the protection of Ulgrim armor and Warcaster spell.

The second demon was taken out by Ulgrim. Pneumatic Burst-a secret technique of Night blades, which allowed for a short time to increase the user's speed many times. Using it, struggling through the viscous air, the swordsman struck several dozen blows at his victim in seconds. In a different situation, iron strikes would not have bothered the demon much. But these swords were not forged from ordinary metal,and they were not worked on by ordinary enchanters. To top it all off, the base of the blades burned with a crimson flame easily recognizable stars – the necromancer also had a hand in creating the perfect weapon for his friend. The point in the life of the demon was put by a stream of branching red lightning that came from the direction of Warcaster-the Doom Bolt.

The last demon, left alone, did not become a big problem, Ulgrim tied it up with a fight, and in a precisely calculated moment went to the side, opening the way for another Soul Eater. Long joint training allowed the Blademaster to anticipate the actions of his partner by the slightest changes in the magic background, playing along in time.

On this island, too, there was only one portal leading further…

At some point, for Ulgrim, everything merged into one mad whirl. They passed another portal, behind which the next battle began. Only the enemy became more dangerous. The swordsman began to receive wounds – the armor's protection was not absolute. However, while the regeneration developed by the same techniques of Nightblades, together with the stream of life from the seals on the blades, coped. Warcaster also did not escape damage, and much more serious – once the demon got to him managed to tear off the magician's leg before death. However, the enormous amount of life force absorbed by the necromancer allowed even severed limbs to be restored in minutes. As much as she could.

Then they changed their tactics. The Raise Skeletons. One of the basic spells of the first circle for necromancers. Masters could use them to lift several dozen corpses, forcing them to fight in their place. In the performance of Warcaster, who had thoroughly modified a simple spell and pumped it, as usual, with an insane amount of power, it created a huge squad of more than a hundred dead demons.

Further friends moved behind the back of their party of the dead-linking the battle of demons, striking magic from afar. Ulgrim focused on protecting the mage.

However, fatigue was building up. No matter how vast the oceans of power available to Warcaster, His mind still needed rest. No matter how great Ulgrim stamina was, regeneration consumed quite material resources of the body, causing a gnawing hunger inside. And technology, too, required more than just magic power. The flesh of demons, alas, was not suitable for food in any way.

As they stumbled into the last portal, they didn't expect much. Except to go as far as they can.

Surprisingly, this island met them with silence. The next hordes demons did not rush to the meeting. There was no cacophony of screams and screams that always accompanied the demons. It took several hours to solve the mystery. There was no new portal on the island, nor was there a reverse one. Dead end. After tens of hours and hundreds of dead demons, the travelers returned to where they had started. Only this time the situation was much worse. Warcaster struggled to keep himself awake. Long ago had to abandon the support of the Harbinger of Souls, limiting myself to simpler supporting spells.

Ulgrim was also bad. He didn't remember ever having to fight such a long battle without any supplies or a base to return to for even a brief recuperation. Hunger and thirst threatened to kill the Grand master of the sword soon. He already had to make adjustments in his movements for the reduced weight – the body was devouring itself, trying to give out the energy needed by the owner.At one point, the warrior even thought that it would be interesting to know what the necromancer tasted like. Putting these thoughts aside, Ulgrim stretched out beside another obsidian rock, near which they had halted. Apathetically watching the dead scouring the area under the necromancer's careful control, reflecting on his own unenviable fate, the tired swordsman did not notice how he fell asleep. 

Many would disagree, but Ulgrim believed that Warcaster had many virtues as a human, not just as a mage. Perhaps, someone it would seem strange, that the swordsman attributed to these virtues lack of emotion, but now the necromancer once again confirmed the opinion of his friend. Where the grandmaster had given up, lost in his own emotions and passed out, the wizard continued to work with the relentlessness of a machine. When he was sure that the island was empty, Warcaster canceled the protection, relieving his tired mind. Most of the dead followed – and the wizard led the walking corpses out of the spell's reach. Concentrating on the sensations coming from the others, the wizard began methodically combing the place where they were, looking for something other than the portal stone. Something that would give them a chance.

His efforts were rewarded in a couple of hours – a small passage leading underground was found between the ribs of the skeleton of an unknown but truly gigantic creature embedded in the stone. Intrigued - this was the first time he had encountered an underground chamber on the chthonian plan-Warcaster personally went to see what it was.

When Ulgrim awoke, the first thing he found was Warcaster sleeping nearby. The second thing the swordsman found was an inscription written in the dust: "Do not Wake Up Me. The island is safe. Found a chance."

A short sleep, though it did not relieve hunger and thirst, cleared head. Now Ulgrim felt a pang of shame – while he had been self-searching and then passed out, the necromancer had found some way out.

While waiting for the wizard to awaken, the Master Sword fell into meditation, trying to somehow optimize the resources of the body, to stretch out the time that he could maintain combat capability.

However, he did not have to wait long. Either Ulgrim had slept much longer than he thought, or Warcaster had recovered more quickly, but within an hour the wizard was stirring, recovering.

"With the awakening."

The Necromancer shook his head, banishing the sleepy stupor and bringing his mind back to normal. Today he had to do something that even by his standards was far beyond normal.

"What did you find? How will we survive?" Ulgrim was impatient to hear something reassuring. The necromancer's next words shattered hope:

"Nohow. We are going to die."

Ulgrim swore. Colorful, dirty. Feel better. Still, sometimes Warcaster was infuriating.

"Then what did you mean by 'chance'?!"

"I'll explain on the way."

Leading his friend to the passage he had discovered the day before, the necromancer began to explain slowly:

"I came across a cave yesterday. There was a slab of chthonian runes in it, but different from the ones we had found before. There was nothing left to lose, so I triggered the spell I'd read. The result was the same as with the portals – I received instructions on how to use the magic machine."

Warcaster paused, choosing his words. Ulgrim waited patiently, without interrupting the mage.

"I'd call it a reincarnation machine."

Looking at the incomprehension written on Ulgrim face, the necromancer explained in more detail:

"It allows the person who died in its circuit to be reborn after death with the preservation of memory and, accordingly, personality."

The master sword stood rooted to the spot.

"So you're suggesting…"

"Yes. Die next to a reincarnation car and start your life again."

Perhaps for a necromancer who went over the edge as if to his own home, this was not something startling, but Ulgrim was taken aback by the suggestion. The grandmaster somehow did not think at all about the subject of the afterlife, and then suddenly rebirth. His next question was a little plaintive.

"Are there no other options?"

"Well, I couldn't think of any."

They walked in silence for a while.

"There is a nuance" Warcaster began to speak reluctantly. He thought for a long time whether to say it at all, or whether it would be better to make the decision himself. But came to the conclusion that I have no right to make a decision for a friend.

"Which one?" The necromancer's tone made the master sword wary. Warcaster was rarely uncertain.

"The machine is designed for the rebirth of demons. No, whose soul to work with, she doesn't care. But the world of rebirth is the chthonian plan. I can reset this setting – there are hardly any human newborns on this plane in which we can be reborn. And even if there are, I don't think we'll live long. Not to mention the possibility of being reborn as a demon."

"I don't see a problem yet." Ulgrim frowned, not understanding what his friend was getting at.

"I have no idea how to set Kairn in this parameter. We will be reborn in another world."

The already scowling swordsman frowned even more. He has already managed to imagine how he grows up, recovers all his skills, and then finds some of his "friends" and asks them a couple of questions about the stability of portals.

"And" the necromancer decided that if you really tell, then everything "the machine guarantees rebirth, but only within a given world. If you don't want us to be scattered across different continents, I'll have to step in when it's launched... which is risky, of course. For both of us.

Warcaster with an unexpected excitement was waiting for an answer. It sometimes seemed to Ulgrim that Warcaster had read In one of his magic books that he needed a friend and, looking around, had appointed a swordsman to the position, closing the question to himself. In fact, this was not the case. In the orderly and rational world of Warcaster, Ulgrim held a very important place. And the necromancer friended him sincerely, as far as he could.

And Ulgrim thought about his life. Looking back now, he suddenly realized that the only thing he cared about was the necromancer walking beside him. He did not create a school of combat, leaving students. Didn't have a family. His family died in the cataclysm. His whole life was spent under the banner of war, in the endless improvement of his martial art. And if so…

With a strong-willed effort, calming his racing thoughts, weighing everything once more, the warrior made a decision:

"Rebirth, so the rebirth. And... do what you want, too."

What risks the necromancer had in mind, Ulgrim did not want to know. His mind was settling into a state of peace. One way or another, his life will end here and now.

Warcaster breathed a silent sigh of relief. He wasn't sure which option Ulgrim would choose. Although he seemed to trust the necromancer's judgment and skill, he was not a mage, and he could not fully understand the possibilities of Warcaster.

The rest of the way passed in silence. Ulgrim plunged into peaceful contemplation, making the last decision of his life. Warcaster, on the other hand, was once again going over his actions, preparing his mind to work in an extreme mode, even by his own standards. It was a challenge to his art to hold another soul close to him, to drag it into another world, but not to let it mix with his own.

Once inside the cave, Ulgrim looked around with interest. The room was small, round by demon standards, and about ten meters in diameter. With a dome rising about half that distance. The walls are made of ubiquitous obsidian, with an influx of glowing stone. The floor is covered with figures that are completely incomprehensible to the grandmaster. The slab with the instructions Warcaster had read remained in the short tunnel leading from the surface. The swordsman suspected that he was in the upper half of the sphere, submerged in the earth. The wizard only shook his head in response to the question. Indeed, the ten-meter sphere was the machine of reincarnation. The working part was hidden at the bottom, and the upper part was the outline that the necromancer was talking about.

"What do you want me to do?" friends are located in the center of the room.

"Take off your armor. And don't resist."

Ulgrim obeyed. When he got rid of his armor, he shuddered. The feeling of being on the chthonian plane without any protection was not pleasant.

"Are you ready?"

"Well, as prepared as you can be for your own death." The Ulgrim chuckled. "Just in case. Goodbye. I'm glad we had the chance to fight together, and I'm proud to be your friend."

Warcaster paused, trying to find an appropriate response for his friend's tone, but couldn't think of anything else to say, just shrugged:

"Goodbye."

The Last thing Ulgrim saw was the Sigil of Consumption spreading beneath his feet.  
  


*** * ***

Silence is different. Sometimes it is calming and philosophical. Sometimes it is depressing, which no one dares to break. Sometimes the silence is dead. And there is that silence that is established a second before the storm, when it is clear that a little more and the world will explode with the noise and roar of an angry element. The silence in the small room cut deep in the mountain near Konohagakure no Sato, the Village-Hidden-in-the-Foliage, was one of the latter.

The room was liberally lit by candles mounted on a dozen waist-high candlesticks. Their flickering light made it possible to appreciate the meagre surroundings of the underground shelter: a small table against the wall, now covered with a sheet – silhouetted shapes that hinted at some bottles and instruments; a hospital bed in the center; bare stone walls and floor.

There were six people in the room. Although two of them could no longer be classified as such – two dead women, one younger, the other older, were sprawled at the exit. Another man paused at the head of the cot. A man, tall, strong, bright blond. In one hand kunai, fingers the second are collected in the seal concentration. Now his blue eyes were straining to follow the other man's movements. He was standing at the exit, over the corpses of women. The figure is hidden by a dark robe, and the face is covered with an orange mask that leaves only one eye open, which in turn closely follows the first warrior. Lying in the crook of the masked man's elbow, the baby was the blond man's newborn son, and now the hand holding the kunai above his tiny body was the only thing that kept him from attacking. The last person in the room was the woman sprawled on the cot. Her red hair, beauty and pride, was now tangled and drenched with sweat. The young and beautiful face was contorted with pain. At any other time, she would have found something to add to the men's confrontation. However, now, weakened by a difficult birth, forced to spend her strength restraining the demon that was trapped in her body and, feeling weak, was trying to break free, she could only hope for her husband.

And the pre-storm silence scared the young parents. No, they weren't afraid of a fight – not the first, and probably not the last. The silence frightened them for another reason. Newborns, you see, are supposed to yell when they enter this world. But in the minutes that had elapsed since the birth, the baby had not uttered a sound. And it was almost more frightening than the weapons raised above their child. All the midwives had to say before they died was that the baby was breathing and his heart was beating.

The storm that was bound to burst into silence began with a slight, barely noticeable disturbance of the chakra in the baby's body. The masked man allowed himself a brief glance at the baby… And this was the moment he chose to open his eyes.

"Eyes are the mirror of the soul." Most people will say that this is just a beautiful, if hackneyed, metaphor. But ask the opinion of a necromancer, and he will tell you that it is a fact-looking into the eyes of a person at the moment of death, or immediately after birth, you can touch that side.

If the wearer of the mask had been a mere mortal, nothing would have happened. After all, he wasn't a necromancer. But in the slit of the mask, an inhuman eye burned with fire. A red iris, a pinched pupil, and three commas around it. The famous Sharingan is the heart of the power of the Uchiha clan. Its owners in their pride called this dojutsu the eyes of God, claiming that he sees everything. Whether this is true is anyone's guess, but he was able to look into the soul belatedly settling into the waiting body.

The magical symbiote, which was called the eye by mistake, obediently counted the information and passed it to its owner. All information. And the mind of Uchiha froze in paralysis, vainly trying to realize the mental constructions that fell on him. Six -, seven - and even eight-dimensional. Spells of magic of another world, for which there is no and could not be names, created by the great necromancer on the move, in an attempt to keep the soul of a friend near. They had done their job, but now they were tearing apart the untrained mind of a warrior of this world.

Perhaps, if he had a few minutes, Uchiha would have coped with what fell on him. After all, no matter what, Sharingan was an integral part of him, and his instincts would have managed to disable the dojutsu that had failed him. But in a confrontation with the Fourth Hokage, Namikaze Minato, the one called Yellow Lightning, a few minutes is like an eternity.

Noticing that his enemy was distracted, the blond attacked immediately, once again justifying the colorful nickname given to him.

One. The technique brings it close to the enemy.

Two. The kunai plunges into the heart of the wearer of the mask.

Three. Another, unusually long and wide, three-petalled kunai blows off the head of the enemy.

Four. The hands of the young father carefully pick up even before the bundle with the baby begins to descend.

Five. The technician carries Minato back to the bed with his wife. He has a high enough opinion of Uchiha capabilities not to stay near a seemingly guaranteed corpse.

It took him barely two seconds to win.

And in the same seconds there was another battle. Was this the natural course of things, or the work of the reincarnation machine? Warcaster was never able to figure it out afterwards. But as soon as the mage finally took the body intended for him, his consciousness began to fade. The hard-won, Clean Mind was failing, once again making the necromancer dependent on the organic brain. A weak, undeveloped newborn brain. All the wizard's efforts to resist it were useless. Even it had its limits. Exhausted by the struggle for Ulgrim soul, and having previously endured difficult and protracted battles after which he could not fully recover, Warcaster realized too late what was happening. His options were rapidly dwindling. It seemed that one moment he could not put together a four-dimensional diagram, and now he can hardly remember how to use his power at all… The wizard lost this battle. His mind went blank.

Those fragments of personality that could somehow function on the basis of such a weak substrate as this young brain was, could not be aware of the loss. But feeling the wrongness, expressed his outrage the only way they feel:

"Whaaaaaa!!!" A loud wail from the disgruntled infant split the tension, drawing a sigh of relief from the parents. Everything ended well.

*** * ***

And a few kilometers from the hidden room in the rock, there were their own, no less dramatic, events for the participants.

Big block on the outskirts of Konoha. A rich house, in the very center of it-the residence of the head of the Uchiha clan. Usually a quiet place, where even the servants seemed to move with the dignity of an aristocrat. Now, at a very late hour, its quiet atmosphere was disturbed by a completely atypical bustle.

Mikoto Uchiha, the wife of the head of the clan, deigned to give birth prematurely. Not so much-the birth was expected in a week, but still. A sufficient reason for the servants and medical-nin to be dragged out of their beds by the will of a powerful head.

The head himself, Fugaku Uchiha, was pacing nervously behind the closed doors of the bedroom where his wife was giving birth. The elderly medical-nin, who had rushed in on the alarm, turned out the famous husband, not flinching at all under the gaze of red eyes with three volumes. And now one of the most influential people in Konoha humbly waited at the door of the verdict of the healers. His wife's screams had died down a few minutes ago. The midwife, who looked out for a moment, had already informed the worried Fugaku that the woman in labor was all right, and the baby was being examined by medical-nin.

Finally, the door slid open to let the healer out.

"Congratulations, you have a son. Strong kid, and no abnormalities. The birth went well, even if prematurely."

The head of the clan felt a mountain fall from his shoulders.

"Can I see them?" This time, Fugaku wasn't going to back down from the healer. However, he saw no point in arguing.

"Yes, of course."

And the delighted father hurried to the bedroom to finally see his child and his wife.


	2. Chapter 2

Children's brains are surprisingly plastic. No wonder they say that there are no incompetent children, there are incompetent teachers. Avidly studying the world around him, the little man processes huge amounts of information, with amazing speed building new connections in the brain. None of the most gifted adult can not be compared to the speed of learning with the child. And the only thing that drives these changes is an instinctive curiosity. And imagine how fast the brain develops pushed by the unconscious memory of decades of life.

Naruto grew up a strange child. He rarely cried. He spoke early, but you didn't often hear from him. He studied everything in his field of vision with calm blue eyes. Phlegmatic and self-absorbed, Naruto did not seek to communicate with peers, ignored toys, preferring to spend time watching something. Passers-by on the street, birds, clouds. The child didn't seem to care what he looked at. He could spend hours like this, as if in a trance.

And when he was about four years old, there were new oddities in his behavior. Suddenly Naruto could freeze, with perplexity looking on any ordinary subject, like chopsticks for food. Sometimes Kushina, who spent much more time with her son than the ever-busy Hokage, caught Him looking at her strangely, as if she were a stranger. Warcaster memory was awakening.

Fortunately, we will not specify who, in this period the parents attention was diverted from Naruto. After all, he had a sister. The girl was named Yui. The baby took the lion's share of kushina's care, because Her eldest child early began to demonstrate not only independence, but also intelligence. Unlike most children, it was safe to leave him alone. If he promised not to go outside from the garden surrounding their house, he would not. Asked not to touch some thing, because it is dangerous – will not touch.

Grim Time. This is how Warcaster later characterized this segment of his life. Periodic flashes of self-awareness, when he looked with surprise at the towering red-haired woman, then looked at the decoration of an unfamiliar house. But the awakening process that had begun continued in an avalanche. And just a couple of months later, the boy who woke up one morning, before he could open his eyes, clearly realized - "I'm a Warcaster."

As the mage slowly descended to Breakfast from his room on the second floor of a small mansion, he looked at it with a new look. Clean, white-painted walls. The floor covered with tatami is a new word whose counterpart was not in his old language. Lockers with scrolls and books. Ikebana, another new word, on the table by the window in the corridor. Everything seemed both so familiar, having lived here for more than four years, and so new at the same time.

As he entered the kitchen, Warcaster paused, looking at the woman busy at the stove. Kushina Namikaze. Mother, mom, ma. He didn't remember his parents from the past world. His past life began at about the age of twenty-five with the muzzle of a pistol held in the hand of the captain of the Devil's Crossroads.

"Naruto! Is something wrong?" Kushina asked anxiously, noticing her son staring at her.

"No. It's alright." words of a language so foreign and so native came out easily and habitually. Warcaster looked away from the woman and climbed into the chair at the dining table that was 'his place'.

Breakfast passed in silence. Kushina, accustomed to her son's taciturnity, did not try to break it. But it didn't bother her as much as it had before. A year ago, unable to bear the anxiety over his strange behavior, his parents took Naruto to medical-nin, specializing in the children of shinobi. The latter studied his body for a long time, paying special attention to the head, showing some cards, asking, from Kushina's point of view, strange questions. And delivered a verdict:

"Your son has an abnormally developed brain for this age. I've seen it in Nara children. Some oddities are normal for him. With age should become better." and, pausing, added. "I don't know who will grow out of it, but I'm sure it will be an outstanding talent shinobi."

Warcaster reflected that the list of people important to him, which had previously been limited to Ulgrim, now included two more lines with the names of his parents. Four years of normal childhood could not overcome the cold and rational perception of the necromancer that had been established for decades, but he could not simply put these years out of his mind either. When he heard his little sister crying from the next room, he thought about it and added her to the list. Although he didn't seem to feel any emotion toward her, the intuitive understanding of the people around him that had developed over the past four years suggested that this was the right thing to do.

"Mom, I'll be in the garden!" Warcaster shouted this to his mother, who had gone to comfort Yui, and left the house.

The house where the Hokage family lived was quite modest. A small two-story mansion built of stone, hidden in the depths of a large garden full of trees, shrubs and flowers. Red tiles on the roof, red window frames that stand out on the whitewashed walls. Kitchen, living room and parents bedroom on the first floor. On the second floor there are two rooms for children and a home office Hokage. In the basement there was still something called a "Laboratory Fuin" patrimony Kushina, but Naruto is not allowed. Perhaps the only thing that gave away the high position of the owner of the house was its location. Few people could afford such a large piece of land in the heart of Konoha, and even fewer were those who could get permission to purchase it.

And now Warcaster was heading for his favorite spot. The garden was enclosed by a stone wall twice the height of a man, and at its south-eastern corner there was a cozy lawn where it was so convenient to think about your own thoughts in the shade of an old sycamore tree.

Sprawled comfortably on the grass, the mage went over in his mind what he knew about the new world.

On the one hand, there was little to know, and on the other, there was something to think about. Warcaster knowledge of geography was limited to the name of the city where he was born – Konohagakure, or simply Konoha. And the name of the country, rather strange to the necromancer's ears , is the Land of Fire. He also didn't know anything about history, except for some vague legends. But with the organization of local government and, most importantly, local magic, it was better.

Local mages called themselves shinobi and represented, judging by the stories of parents, paradoxical, in the view of the necromancer, a cross between warriors and mages. In Kairn, mages and warriors were clearly separated, but here, regardless of the power and distance of the techniques, each had to have some basic melee skills. However, Warcaster didn't have enough information about the specifics of the local wars to draw conclusions about the reasonableness or unreasonableness of this approach.

The local magic was based on some kind of 'chakra'. According to the fragmentary information that the magician remembered from adult conversations, this power came from the body. And that was strange. His power as a magician was a property of the soul, which was well proved by the fact that he still felt it. The familiar oceans of the cold and calm power of Death and the maddening depths of the Abyss were close at hand-just reach out with your mind. The only thing that came to mind was an inner force that Ulgrim sometimes mentioned. There were also such words as 'Kekkei Genkai', 'Tenketsu', 'Raiton', 'Katon', which often flashed in conversations about shinobi, but although Warcaster understood their literal meaning, what exactly they meant in the context of local magic, remained hidden for him.

For four years, although in fact less – the first year and a half of memory was hidden in a fog, he managed to see not so many cases of using the chakra. Most often, he saw so – called Shadow Clones-Kushina sometimes used them as a backup when working around the house or in the garden. Material, but extremely unstable and obtuse copies of the mother always attracted the attention of Naruto, catching his eye. Several times he saw Hiraishin - when father suddenly literally disappeared from the house, after reading some note, passed to him out of breath shinobi. He had also seen a talking dog once, a summoned creature of one of his father's friends. After a moment's thought, Warcaster also attributed the abnormally high jumps to magic, when his father or his men flew in one fell swoop not only over the fairly high fence around their garden, but also half the distance to the house standing in the distance from the fence.

In general, quite interesting features that were definitely worth exploring. Especially because for some reservations to adults, it became clear that they see the future of Naruto that is in the path of the shinobi. That suited Warcaster the best way possible. Learning and developing new battle spells, and then applying this knowledge to its intended purpose, was exactly what his entire life was made of, and he could not think of anything else.

Then there was the political system. At the head of the country was a daimyo, who was subordinate to the village of shinobi – Warcaster knew that, at least in this country, there was only one. There might have been some other aristocracy, but he didn't care much about it. At the head of Konoha stood Hokage-shadow of fire. Namikaze Minato, his father. Warcaster chuckled, appreciating the good fortune of being the son of the second man in the country. This definitely opened up additional opportunities for him.

Then there were three ranks of shinobi who were subordinate to the Hokage-Genin, Chunin, and Jonin. Was still some sennin and medical-nin, but it was for a mage now is irrelevant.

So, summing up, Warcaster came to the conclusion that you need to become a shinobi, study the chakra and, perhaps, combine it with the forces available to him. Speaking of powers. It was worth checking what he could do now.

Warcaster shifted from a relaxed position to a sitting position with his legs crossed. Actually, in the past, he preferred to meditate just sitting in something comfortable, but his new body has already become familiar with this position, adopted by the local inhabitants. Marveling at his newfound flexibility, the mage sank into his own mind.

A moment later, an exasperated sigh escaped his lips.

"Pff…"

There was no more Clean Mind. His once-powerful mind, which could playfully manipulate dozens of multi-dimensional structures, could not hold even the first-circle spell scheme. Not only that, but he couldn't remember anything more complicated than the second circled. He remembered what spells he knew, their effects, and the nuances of their use. But the structures themselves eluded him. Moreover, after searching his memory, he realized that his memory of the later years of life looks quite strange. He remembered all the conversations verbatim, remembered his actions, remembered the conclusions of his reasoning. But the reasoning itself, the logical chains, the ways in which he came to these conclusions, he could not reproduce.

"Pff..." Warcaster couldn't contain another exasperated sigh as he realized that the weak child's brain simply couldn't think the Archmage's thoughts. It was to be hoped that this memory would return as his powers grew.

So, he needed to restore his spell manipulation skills. For starters, the first circle. Later, you will need to restore a Clean Mind. It would take years, of course, and Warcaster would not be able to predict when He would be able to use the Soul Eater he loved so much again. However, he is in no particular hurry – there is a whole life ahead of him.

"Narutoo! Lunch!" His mother's cry roused him from his reverie.

"Pff..." the irritated snort seemed to threaten to become a habit. It took him half a day to think, which would not have taken more than a few minutes before. It was unpleasant to feel stupid.

Getting up and brushing himself off, Warcaster went back to the house.

After lunch, the mage returned to his favorite spot. But not alone. Caught along the way, the hamster trembled in fear, clenched in a child's fist, anticipating its unenviable fate.

After all the unpleasant discoveries about his mind, the only thing left to do was check if his power control skills had deteriorated. Focusing on the rodent, Warcaster unleashed magic in the Absorption of Life. This basic necromancy technique, in its simplest form, was not even a spell, but was based on pure control.

Many, including Ulgrim, believed that Warcaster always pumped up his spells with a wild amount of power. In fact, this was not the case. The necromancer always used it as much as was necessary in the current situation. Simply, because the typical application of his skills was the mass extermination of motley creatures, just the maximum pumping was logical. However, now, when killing a hamster, the magician put just as much force into the blow as it took to kill the hamster. That saved him.

A wild pain gripped every cell of his body. Nerves were replaced with red-hot wire. The head seemed to explode. Warcaster sank his teeth into the sleeve of his jacket, quenching the scream to a muffled howl.

Gradually, the pain began to fade. Gritting his teeth, the mage fell to the grass with a grunt. Looking up at the sky with watery eyes, Warcaster cursed himself with the last words. How could he have forgotten? Another flaw in his weak mind seemed to have been exposed – he simply could not operate effectively with his entire memory, missing out on things that were not part of his daily reality.

The body served as the guide of the magician's power to the real world. You can build tooth-crushing structures in your mind as much as you want, but if you don't have a body that can carry the force into the real world, you can't be a mage. In the past world, the ethereal that captured the Warcaster's body did a lot of work, preparing it to manipulate colossal energy flows for some purpose of its own. After being released from the spirit, the magician studied the question for a long time and carefully, thoroughly understanding what was done and how it was done. However, after making sure that his body was already at the maximum possible limit, he threw this knowledge into the far corner of his memory and did not return to it.

And now, trying to pass the alien energy of Death through an unprepared child's body, the necromancer, who missed such an important nuance, almost killed himself. The only plus could be called the fact that this body was generally capable of carrying out its power-the corpse of a hamster clearly proved this.

Warcaster was distracted from his sad thoughts by a throbbing pain in his arm. A cursory glance showed that he had bitten his hand through the sleeve of his jacket to draw blood. With an exasperated sigh, for the umpteenth time that day, the mage started toward the nearest rose Bush, but stopped in mid-stride. A newly acquired intuition suggested that drying flowers, which Kushina had spent a lot of time breeding, was not the best idea. With another snort of exasperation, Warcaster wandered to the far side of the garden, where a patch of weeds under the fence had narrowly escaped his mother's attention.

Looking at the slowly yellowing tangle of thorns, feeling his hand heal just as slowly under the influence of the thin stream of life drawn from the plants, and ignoring the pain of the magic passing through his body, much weaker than in the case of the hamster, Warcaster summed it up.

His power is with him, but he can't really use it. A weak body and a weak mind will require a lot of work before you can show something worthwhile. So, he needs: become a shinobi, having understood the local system of magic. Add knowledge about the world where he was reborn. Restore the ability to use the first and possibly second circle of spells. Then proceed to the development of Clean Mind. Train the body to use magic, at the beginning of Death, and then the more poisonous, the Abyss. And find Ulgrim. Warcaster did not yet know how to approach the latter task, but he was confident in his art and believed that he was born either in Konoha or somewhere nearby.

The list of tasks, consisting mainly of overcoming their own squalor, caused the magician another irritated snort. However, annoyance could not prevent the necromancer from immediately starting to implement his plans with his usual methodical approach.

After healing his hand and washing the blood on his sleeve with water from the barrel used by Kushina to water the flowers, the mage returned to the house. Holding his body's flow with some of the power of Death, he headed for the bookshelves in the living room. Warcaster ignored the pain caused by magic – it would be his companion for a long time. Training for the development of the body's conductivity consisted precisely in various scenarios of saturation of that alien force.

"Pff..." as the mage unfolded the first scroll he saw from the lower shelf, another exasperated sigh escaped his lips. The first plan to add to his knowledge was dashed against an obstacle – he had not yet been taught to read.

Warcaster did not think of anything clever. Kushina found herself in the kitchen, busy preparing dinner.

"Mom" the mage said, making sure that he had attracted the woman's attention, then laid the scroll he had brought with him on the table and immediately handed it out. "teach me to read."

Kushina stared at her son in surprise. Although he looked as calm as usual to an outsider, his mother noticed that he was very annoyed about something. It was also almost the first time he had asked for something more serious than passing a dish from the other end of the table.

"It's quite difficult, do you think you can handle it?" with a smile, she leaned toward the baby, which seemed to have come out of its shell.

"Yes. I'm smart." such a categorical and direct statement caused a quiet chuckle and a tender smile from the mother.

"Then we'll do it right after dinner! And until, return, please, this on place" Kushina with smile nodded at scroll 'List metals and alloys, required in manufacturing Chakra Blade', that dragged with a Naruto "learn we will on the other book."

With a satisfied nod, Warcaster complied with his mother's request and went up to his room. Before dinner, he would have time to practice holding three-dimensional structures.

*** * ***

On this day, Minato Namikaze managed to return home before dinner for a change. Even if it was only a couple of minutes, even that was rare. And now, leaning against the wall, he watched with a smile as his wife set the table, humming to herself, clearly pleased with something.

"Did something good happen?"

"Oh, Minato! You made it!" Kushina smiled happily at her husband. It looks like this is going to be the most successful day in a long time. "Can you imagine Naruto asked me to teach him to read…"

Still with a smile listening to the twittering of his wife, in colors describing Naruto at that moment, Hokage sighed bitterly to himself. This was not how he had imagined fatherhood. Minato simply did not know how to approach his son, where to start communicating. Closed and infinitely calm, the son did not want anything that ordinary children were interested in. He not be interested in toys or sweets, he did not respond to his father's attempts to involve him in simple games.

And at the service, heart was scratched by Fugaku's happy stories about how restless his youngest was growing up…

The dinner was held in a leisurely conversation-Minato told his wife the latest news from the office of Hokage. This time, however, he noticed that their usually absent-minded son was listening intently to the conversation, clearly trying to figure out what it was all about.

And after dinner, when Minato settled down in his office, hoping to finish something else before going to bed – his son came to him, usually serious, and immediately said:

"I want to become a shinobi. Where to start?"

And feeling himself smile involuntarily, Namikaze thought that everything was not as bad as it seemed to him.

*** * ***

"Pff" an exasperated snort had become a part of Warcaster's speech for the past six months.

In principle, he was doing well. He could now confidently hold in mind the simplest spell he knew – the basic version of the Curse of Frailty. Training to increase the body's conductivity also produced results, although he would have been wary of using the same Curse for the time being. He had learned to read without difficulty and had already cluttered up his room with a variety of books, causing his parents to be taken aback by the speed of absorbing new information and interest in quite unchildlike topics like history and geography. At first, Kushina tried to slip him a collection of fairy tales, but received such a pejorative look in response that she refused to offer her son children's books. Training shinobi, too, progressed, although here he found it difficult to assess its progress, relying only on assurances father, that all is famously.

On the very next day after his request, Minato developed a violent activity, dragging the child into this whirl. After a brief argument, Kushina was recaptured a corner of the garden. There, overjoyed that his son turned to him for help, the parent quickly equipped a small training area – a horizontal bar, bars, roughly made targets. Warcaster did not expect such a sharp response to his question – after all, Hokage is quite a busy man. But, apparently, some elusive nuance of interpersonal relations, so irritating in its illogical nature, worked again, and he threw all the cases that he could. In any case, the mage obediently followed his father, helping him uproot bushes or make targets.

And Minato, although his son remained silent and phlegmatic as usual, was glad that they were finally doing something together, and he began to really feel like a father. And the first same data them Naruto lessons even more raised his mood. The son listened attentively, studied diligently and intently, showing an unusual ability for children to concentrate. In his mind arose and began to strengthen the idea that such a character warehouse could have very significant advantages in developing a future shinobi.

Warcaster didn't understand the training yet. For the most part, they were reduced to complexes of general physical training and throwing models of cold weapons of various types. When asked about the chakra, Minato replied that it was too early to work with it. The magician did not argue – a local fighter of considerable rank knows better where to start training. However, he did not miss the opportunity to extract from the latter details about this, from his point of view, anomaly.

As it turned out, in the body of each shinobi there is a certain center, capable of developing a chakra, filling it with a CCS, on the principle of organization resembling a bloodstream, although completely unrelated to that. Have Naruto this hearth, too, was, but until sleeping. It will need to be awakened later. Warcaster also learned about tenketsu-points of exit of the chakra from the body. Shinobi techniques were built either on manipulating the chakra inside your body, in order to strengthen it, accelerate it, or something similar, or on throwing it out through tenketsu and forming this energy into a particular spell-technique. Hand seals were used to create spells – tricky shapes that could be twisted with your fingers. They allow a certain way to prepare CCS to use a specific technique, facilitating control.

The idea of seals was immediately rejected by Warcaster. To him, who was used to shuffling spells with the speed of thought, the idea of relying on body movements seemed ridiculous. The mage assumed that the locals had poor control, which forced them to use such crutches. In this case, he gets a serious advantage-making do with the mind where the locals twist mudras out of their fingers. However, there was nothing to back up the suggestion yet, and he kept his opinion to himself, dutifully performing the finger-flexing exercises that his father had shown him.

In general, everything was going well. Except one.

Happy that their son seemed to have woken up from hibernation, the parents were fired up with the idea that he needed friends. And in the house periodically began to appear guests. With children.

Oh, joyfully babbling something, or even coherently offering to go throw kunai, the children brought the magician just to a frenzy. Well, how much is such a big word applied to the dim emotions of a necromancer.

He would have liked to kill them all, but even without intuition, it was a bad idea. It was also impossible to explain to his parents that his list of friends had suddenly grown fourfold, something he was still not getting used to.

The only way to deal with the kids was to ignore them completely. As soon as the next guests appeared on the threshold, the necromancer sat in the Lotus position, completely ignoring all attempts to communicate and pretending to meditate. Children quickly got tired of slowing him down, and they went to adults or switched to their children's games.

This time the reason for his discontent was Sasuke Uchiha. Son of the head of the clan and Kushina's bosom girlfriend. From his parents, Warcaster had heard more than once how restless and precocious he was. And now he had a grim premonition that he would not be able to get rid of it so easily.

And it seemed that his premonitions were beginning to come true. Kushina led a tall, black-haired, black-eyed woman in a kimono and a haori robe into the living room, where He was sitting on the floor reading another book. Next to the woman, an equally black-haired, black-eyed boy, dressed in a dark t-shirt and shorts, strolled with an independent air – it was the height of summer.

"Naruto, get acquainted, this is Sasuke." the boy with a grin came forward, proudly crossing his arms on his chest. "Would you like to show him your training ground?"

Kushina waited for the answer with a certain doom. She had given up hope that their reserved son would want to talk to anyone. And the more unexpected the answer was.

"Okey."

"Yo, went to show that where you have..." not wasting any time Sasuke grabbed Naruto's hand and dragged him to the garden.

Looking after her son, who was not resisting such an arbitrary decision, Kushina did not even know what to think.

What made Warcaster suddenly give up? Oh, it's very simple. When Sasuke folded his hands, his fingers signaled 'follow me'. The sign that was known only to two people. Him and Ulgrim.

Coming out of homes, Sasuke looked around on sides and, finding mournfully bushes thicker, dragged to those still unresisting Naruto. Having climbed further into the thicket, Uchiha turned to look at son Hokage.

A boy, about five years old, dressed in a white t-shirt and green shorts. Bright blue eyes, that now quietly looked at Sasuke, hair color of gold – as have father. Fifteen years later, the heir to the Hokage threatened to grow into a handsome man, falling in love with yourself young kunoichi. Although, if he is right about who is stuck in this blonde head... Kunoichi is not going to get anything.

"Hi, Warcaster..." the words of a language alien to this world seemed to scratch the throat of Ulgrim's new body, unaccustomed to them. Uttering a greeting, he glared at Naruto's eyes.

"Hi." the answer, given in the same language, made Uchiha exhale with relief. Although, for the first time hearing the description of oddities in the behavior of the son of Hokage, Ulgrim immediately suspected that his friend, and seeing the boy in person, even more confirmed in this opinion, but he was not completely sure until the last moment.

Leaning back in the branches, the black-haired boy let out an incoherent but triumphant yell. They all turned out. Warcaster did it. Only now, having discovered his friend, also safely reborn, could Ulgrim finally fully believe what had happened. He died and was born again. Own self.

Warcaster, though he didn't feel like shouting, was glad, too. One of his plans had come to fruition, and now his friend was back.

Ulgrim, a little relieved, got down to business. Knowing the mage's antisocial nature, he was worried about certain issues.

"How do you get along with your parents?" Ulgrim continued the conversation in the old language. Even if someone could hear them, at this age they are calmly justify himself children's games. But find out who the content of the conversation is... There would be difficulties.

"Normal." Naruto shrugged his shoulders.

Sasuke incredulously looked at him.

"What, is this really normal?"

"Yes. Years before I realized myself, I got used to it."

Uchiha breathed a sigh of relief. He hastened to ask the following question:

"I hope you didn't try to tell them who you are."

Actually, Warcaster had considered this option, but right now it would not have changed anything fundamentally for him, and understanding his own weakness in predicting people's behavior kept him from doing so. However, in the future…

"No. I've postponed this option for now."

Ulgrim frowned, he make it in time.

"Naruto" in response to the oblique glance of the necromancer, the grandmaster explained "Get used to It, now it's your name. And I'll call you that, too."

"So here is" Sasuke returned to what wanted to say "never and under any conditions not admit parents about how, who you there is. And it's better for no one at all. At the very least, if there are no other options, lie that you have awakened the memory of a past life or something like that. But never let them know that you associate yourself primarily with the necromancer Warcaster."

"Why?" "the mage trusted Ulgrim completely and was going to follow His advice, but he wanted to try to understand.

The Uchiha winced.

"It's hard to explain, but ... they'll probably hate you. As if you killed their child."

"I didn't kill anyone – this body was meant for my soul."

"You know it, I know it. But you can't explain it to them. For parents, the child is their continuation, the embodiment of hopes. Find out that, instead, a dark mage from another world is sitting in his body…"

"All right, I'll do that." Warcaster caught the broad outline of what Ulgrim meant, and though it seemed illogical to him, accepted the explanation.

"How's your magic?"

"Pff…"

Warcaster briefly told Sasuke-Ulgrim about his condition and success. Nodding approvingly, Uchiha asked:

"Do you know what a Kekkei Genkai is?"

"No, but I've heard the word."

"Some clans have special abilities that allow them to do things that others can't. They are called Kekkei Genkai-improved genome. For example, my clan has magic eyes-Sharingan."

Hearing this, Warcaster stared with interest into Sasuke's black eyes.

"I don't see anything magical."

"Obviously," the Uchiha chuckled "they will have to awaken as well as the hearth chakra."

"What do they give you?"

"Much: the ability to predict the opponent's movements, the acceleration of thinking, absolute visual memory" Ulgrim, when he learned of such a bonus that he fell in this life, except that he did not lick his lips, impatiently waiting for the dojutsu to work "and other similar advantages. In general, things are extremely useful for me. There are still some special techniques, but they don't tell me anything about them yet."

Warcaster nodded in satisfaction; his friend had been reborn very successfully. Such opportunities should raise his skill to a new level.

"But I didn't ask about Kekkei Genkai because I wanted to show off my eyes. You see, sometimes new types of genome appear. And since no one but the host understands the principles of their work…"

Warcaster caught the idea at once.

"Are you suggesting that they explain my magic?"

"Yes."

"Too many different techniques, I think" Warcaster said after a moment's thought "but it's a good idea. I'll think about it."

"Ponder. The main thing is to wait until you awaken the center of the chakra-active Kekkei Genkai without the chakra will be too strange."

Warcaster nodded.

"How are you doing with your skills recovery?"

Then it was Uchiha's turn to sigh in exasperation.

On the one hand, he was more fortunate than Warcaster. Although the grandmaster had also suffered from the weakening of his own mind, his abilities did not require such sophisticated intelligence. Yes, he, too, had to restore the capabilities of the body from scratch, but the necessary training at this stage coincided with the training of shinobi. And later this situation will change not much and the art of shinobi, and the skill of the Ulgrim's demanded in the first place, all the same the development of the body. Sharingan and chakra opened up new horizons for him, and Ulgrim did not see any obstacles in integrating them with his style.

The main problem was just the style. First, no one in their right mind will allow a child to set a fighting style according to their own understanding. Whatever talent or even genius he showed. Of course, the grandmaster would find a strong argument for the superiority of his skills. Thus giving away the experience of countless fights. Second, any master who looked at Ulgrim's movements would quickly see the same combat experience behind them.

So it turned out that Ulgrim will have to learn the clan style of hand-to-hand combat Uchiha, and slowly restore some internal techniques, like a Pneumatic Burst. Well, at least he managed to prove himself as a talent in the field of kenjutsu-his parents have already promised to select the appropriate teacher for him. The restoration of style will have to be postponed until the beginning of a more or less independent life.

They talked for some time, exchanging information about the chakra and the world around them. At some point, Warcaster learned from Ulgrim about the Academy Shinobi, where they were to start studying in a few years. The idea of learning with a whole bunch of kids made him reject it. However, as soon as he spoke negatively about it, Ulgrim objected:

"You can try to get your father to set up an individual program, of course, although in my experience he won't agree, but you'll turn a lot of people against you."

"How?"

"People don't like people who stand out. And you, with your demeanor, will stand out very much. Plus the fact that you are now the son of a big shot, plus your" Ulgrim chuckled "upcoming Kekkei Genkai in general, people will find many reasons to dislike you. Don't give them another one. After all, here and now you are not a powerful Archmage capable of killing everyone around you."

This last reminder drew another exasperated sigh from Warcaster, but there was logic in His friend's words. So, the mage promised himself to think about it.

Their conversation ended when Mikoto Uchiha called her son – it was time for them to leave.

"Well, as you Sasuke?" after seeing off her friend, Kushina was eager to ask her son – he was the first time for so long to communicate with someone else.

"Well" Warcaster thought for a Moment, then added "we've become friends."

"Oh" the words of his son brought a kunoichi in delight. Finally, her son got together with someone "And what were you talking about?"

"We discussed the chakra. Mom, training time" Warcaster didn't want to answer questions, and he really tried not to break the schedule.

"Then run, of course!" Released Kushina's son.

Meanwhile, on the streets of Konoha, not far from the house of Hokage, another mother asked her son very similar questions:

"How do you Naruto?" Mikoto looked at her son with a smile.

"He's cool, we're friends."

"Cool?" What my friend said about her son didn't fit that word. Her son's response surprised her so much that she didn't even reprimand him for using an inappropriate vocabulary for one of the clan's heirs. "I thought he was weird."

"He's just very smart. He's not interested in people."

"Here's how" surprised handed it to Mikoto "and what he is interested?"

"Chakra. You'll see, it will grow into the greatest shinobi of this world."

Uchiha grinned, imagining what would happen when Warcaster regained all his abilities, which would add shinobi skills honed over the years. He'll make the world shudder yet.

"Even stronger than you?" The mother knew of her son's high opinion of himself, and she couldn't help but tease him. But the answer surprised her.

"More strongly. Mom, let's go get some ice cream."

Unlike Warcaster, Ulgrim enjoyed a second childhood. Yes, even if the son of the head of the clan had a lot of restrictions, even if he was trained from childhood. But it was still a great time when you can do nonsense, crack sweets and not worry about a lot of things that adults have to think about. As for training, his past childhood had been much less free – a child who had spent a fortune on it before he was born required a huge return. Sasuke was much softer. So now the great grandmaster, whistling cheerfully, led his mother, who was thinking about something, to the pastry shop of the Akimichi clan and figured out how many servings of ice cream he should eat? Two or three?


	3. Chapter 3

"Naruto, Wake up!" His mother's soft voice woke Warcaster in the middle of the night.

Opening his eyes and looking at the kunoichi, the mage realized that the measured rhythm of life, to which he had already become accustomed, would clearly be disrupted. As far as he could tell in the moonlight that fell through the window, Kushina was dressed in the standard shinobi uniform of dark pants and jacket, draped over a green jonin vest. It was the first time Warcaster had seen his mother in such clothing. She preferred bright dresses or t-shirts combined with tight trousers. Her usually loose red hair was pulled back in a braid and tied at the neck.

Seeing that her son was awake, Kushina issued instructions.

"Get ready quickly and go down. We are waiting for a short trip to nature."

"Understood."

No longer surprised by her son's calm reaction, kunoichi hurried to the next room to pick up her daughter.

Leaping to his feet, the mage quickly began to dress in something similar to the same uniform that his mother was wearing, except for the vest. This clothing was a so-called "children's" version of shinobi clothing. It was made of the same fabric as the usual one - waterproof and strong - but did not have specific internal layers, such as a metal mesh. Warcaster's vestments were completed with a small, childlike knife in a scabbard at his belt, a gift from his father for his sixth birthday. Warcaster had valued good equipment in the past world. Minato, who happened to recognize this little weakness of his son, now regularly indulged him with gifts like this knife or clothes.

Going down, the mage saw a shinobi standing in the lighted hall, dressed in the same uniform as Kushina. He was tall, with brown hair covered by a blue bandana, and he was rolling a steel senbon – a throwing needle-between his lips.

"Hi, Naruto." said hello shinobi.

"Hi."

Shiranui Genma was one of his father's bodyguards, and Warcaster knew him, though he had never spoken to him.

"You'll have to ride me today."

The shinobi turned around, and the mage saw a belt strapping attached to his back.

"Is this necessary?" Warcaster wasn't thrilled at the prospect.

"Yes, we'll have to move fast, you won't be able to keep up with us." Shiranui smiled apologetically.

Warcaster did not argue further. Quickly dealing with the straps, he secured himself on the back of the crouching shinobi, facing him. As soon as he finished, his mother came down from above, carrying Yui in a similar harness. After making sure that her son did everything right, Kushina slung the rather skinny bag that was lying there over her shoulder and left the house:

"We're ready."

Genma followed.

In the garden, they were joined by two other shinobi: Namiashi Raido – a brown – haired man with a scarred face, whose wild hair was held by a bandage with a protector - a steel plate with the sign of Konoha; and a bestial-looking man with a goatee – Tatami Iwashi. The first was also a jonin, the second a chunin. Together with Genma, they made up the entire Hokage bodyguard squad.

Warcaster's eyes narrowed with interest. I wonder if all the bodyguards are here. Did something happen to the Hokage? No, they are too calm. So he sent them off to protect the family. Protection from what? Given that they were already running through the deserted streets at night to the wall that surrounded Konoha, most likely the danger is internal, otherwise they would not have sought to leave the village. Some kind of political intrigue? Probably. And given the calmness of the bodyguards and Kushina, as well as the sudden, but not too hasty preparations, the initiator of the intrigue was just his father. And now he was just putting the family out of harm's way. Having come to these conclusions, a satisfied Warcaster prepared to watch what was happening.

They quickly raced through the city, and came to the gate. They reached almost ten meters high, while remaining embedded in the wall – it was twice as high. The gates were closed at night. For some reason, there were no guards nearby. Removed by order of the Hokage?

Warcaster watched with interest as his mother moved confidently to the door's. A small flash, some symbols glowing in the night air-he couldn't see much from behind Kushina – and the gate opens silently enough for them to pass through. As the small group left the city, the gate closed behind them, too.

Very curious. Warcaster seemed to see the power of fuinjutsu, the seal technique, at Work. He already knew that his parents, especially Kushina, were considered recognized masters in this direction of the art of shinobi. And this direction was very, very interesting to him. After all, fuinjutsu was built on diagrams and symbols, which echoed the magic of Warcaster himself.

Meanwhile, the party was already racing through the forest. But it wasn't on the ground. Shinobi deftly jumped from branch to branch, quickly moving between the giant trees. Warcaster looked around with interest. It was the first time he had been outside the village, and now he was looking at the huge trees, whose height was measured in tens of meters, and whose leaves could be the size of a palm. Their branches were so wide that sometimes two people could stand freely on them. The mage already knew that he should thank the first Hokage for such a flora. Hashirama Senju had a Kekkei Genkai that allowed him to control the growth of plants, and now a forest of giants grew around Konoha for several days.

However, you can't see much in the dark, so this activity quickly bored the mage. After thinking about it, he decided to practice controlling magic schemes. Swinging up and down on the back of a shinobi jumping on branches created additional complexity, which could be useful.

"Naruto, are you okay?" Genma was worried – the boy had been hanging on his back completely motionless for about ten minutes, although he had been actively turning his head. The answer almost caused him to stumble on the next jump.

"I'm meditating. Not interfere."

Then the shinobi was carrying the son of his boss in silence. Giving him this task, the latter, somehow smiling maliciously, noted that he was not surprised by Naruto's behavior. And now jonin was slowly beginning to understand what the Hokage meant. Of course, there were some rumors about this unusual boy in Minato's inner circle, but the reality was still unexpected.

They stopped shortly after dawn. Their goal was a small underground shelter – a fairly long corridor leading from the surface, four rooms, and another corridor leading deeper, where, according to genma, there was an exit to the underground river – a source of water. The river could also serve as an escape route – downstream it broke to the surface. The entrance to this dungeon was disguised as a solid rock that was opened using fuinjutsu.

In general, on this day Warcaster saw more manifestations of this curious art than in all his previous life. As soon as they stopped, the shinobi began to settle in the stone walls, where there were only a few rough-hewn bunks for sleeping, and a fireplace in one of the rooms. Long scrolls covered with symbols and diagrams appeared from the bag Kushina was carrying. The mage watched with some dismay as she put her hands to them, having previously rolled out the scrolls on the floor, and out of nowhere with a soft pop, everything necessary for a comfortable Parking begins to appear. Sleeping bags, kerosene lamps, dishes and fuel for the hearth, and a host of other small items that gave away a thorough preliminary preparation. Finished off the mage box, which smelled so familiar to him the smell of freshly prepared Cooking kushina. As soon as they got back, he would ask his mother questions about the art.

Time passed slowly underground. Warcaster had eaten, slept, and eaten again, and now he was sitting on one of the bunks in the room with the fire, trying to run a leaf over his body that he had picked up from the surface during the descent. This was one of the basic exercises for chakra control. He had awakened the hearth a month ago, and now he was delighting in exploring his new possibilities.

There wasn't much to learn yet, though. Warcaster's hopes that the locals were using the seals only because of poor control were effectively dashed. Yes, it will clearly be easier for him than other shinobi, not to mention peers, due to considerable experience with various energies. However, the chakra proved to be very resistant to force manipulation. And the sign of concentration, the only one that had been shown to him so far, did make things very much easier. And now, having collected this sign with one hand, and looking at the leaf lying on the other hand, the mage tried to release the chakra from the tenketsu in such a way that it moved it in the desired direction.

"Naruto, bring more fuel, please." Kushina knew that her son didn't like interrupting his training, but she couldn't leave the hearth where the soup was cooking. As for the other shinobi, their task was to guard.

Wincing slightly, the mage nodded and headed out of the room. On the way he sped up the current of the chakras in CPS – another training. Such acceleration was the basis of strengthening the body of the shinobi. At the same time, he continued to imbue the body with the power of Death. As he went out into the corridor, he was thinking about an interesting point. In General, saturating the body with this power gave it some advantages in itself – it became less sensitive to pain and damage. However, the mage noticed that the chakra somehow interacts with the power of Death, enhancing this effect. So far, he can't get anything radical out of it, but…

The necromancer's thoughts were rudely interrupted, he caught a blurry movement out of the corner of his eye, and the next moment something hard landed on the back of his head. The limp child was picked up and held to his chest. The characteristic bulges told the mage that the attacker was a woman.

"Alert!" Genma suddenly stepped out into the corridor from another room and mixed up the raiders plans.

The kidnapper, clutching Naruto to her, jumped back to the descent with one movement, deftly beating off the senbon spat out by the bodyguard and several shurikens released by him.

The unknown kunoichi who had hit it, beat it carefully, so as to knock out the child, but not to cause him serious harm. However, the pumping of Death and the chakra that the mage was holding at that moment was enough to turn the loss of consciousness into a brief disorientation. And now the quickly recovering necromancer was preparing for the first battle in this life.

Casting a glance at his surroundings through slightly opened lids, the mage assessed the disposition. While he was recovering, the corridor became crowded. Two more shinobi appeared from somewhere. All the mage could tell about them was that they were dressed in black, and that was all he could see of the constantly moving figures in the swirl of blows. One of the newcomers grappled with Genma, the other with Namiashi, who jumped out to alert them. There was no sign of the third bodyguard. Opposite the kunoichi who was holding Naruto, Kushina froze, whose figure attracted the main attention of the mage. He had never seen her like this before, her face contorted in a grimace of rage, as if it had taken on the features of a beast. The body was covered in a strange orange haze. The necromancer easily sensed the power that came from the figure of his usually calm and cheerful mother. Powerful, fierce, and vicious. To complete the picture, four gold-glowing chains, clearly of magical origin, were bursting out of Kushina's back. It seems that all that kept the kunoichi from attacking was the kunai that the attacker held at the mage's throat. It seems that it's time for him to contribute to the fun.

Death burst out of the child's body in an Absorption of Life, silent and invisible. A couple of moments and an incredible weakness causes the kidnapper to drop the kunai and the child. He, once on the floor, does not waste time and rolls over into the corner of the corridor – so as not to trample. Even before he is on his feet, the necromancer feels death – the mother did not miss the opportunity. The golden chains slammed into her opponent's body and slammed her into the wall with such force that it cracked. Without being distracted by looking at the corpse, the necromancer catches sight of the figures that are fighting with his father's bodyguards. Here's one Bouncing off, breaking the distance. What does the attacker want, lay down the equipment, look around? No matter, giving the necromancer a chance to pick himself up in the whirlwind of battle, he immediately gets the Curse of Frailty in the back. For some seconds, shinobi begins to feel as if the fight has been going on for at least an hour. His hands feel like lead and movements slow down. A couple of seconds and the power of the Abyss that reached the warrior at the behest of the necromancer would have dissipated, but Genma does not miss the unexpected hitch in the enemy's actions – a rapid exchange of blows and he sinks to the floor, gurgling with a cut throat. The remaining opponent did not last long – the same Kushina chains wrapped around his legs, forcing him to lose his balance and expose himself to the blow of the sword that Namiashi wielded.

The fight ends suddenly, there was a ringing and shouting in the corridor, but silence descends on the battlefield. But it didn't last long. Kushina rushed to her son, kneeling before him.

"Naruto! Are you okay?!" The mother's gaze searched her son's figure, searching for wounds… And fear. Kushina knew what the bloodlust of the demon that was trapped in her body was like, and now her heart sank, waiting for the reaction of the child who was facing her for the first time.

"Yes. What kind of power did you use? I want that too." The child's response drew a relieved laugh from Kushina. Her son remained impenetrable even for Bijuu.

"I'm afraid you won't be able to do that" Kushina ruffled the boy's hair with a smile. "I'll tell you later."

"Your Bijuu mother!" there was a expressions from the corner, made kunoichi jump up, about to make a comment on the subject of expressions allowed in the presence of a child… However, the words stuck in her throat.

While Kushina cooed over her son, Genma examined the bodies of the attackers. They were dressed in standard shinobi uniforms and smooth masks that covered the entire face except for the eyes. Opening the faces of corpses, shinobi peered at them, anxiously expecting to meet acquaintances. He knew that the attackers were from their own village. The view that opened when he removed the mask from the face of the kunoichi that grabbed Naruto, and caused an involuntary curse.

The necromancer glanced at the scene before him, assessing the effect of his magic. The face of the corpse paradoxically combined the features of a young woman and an ancient old woman. The cheekbones are tightly covered with parchment-dry skin. The eye sockets were black and sunken. The hair became dry, brittle, and fell out before my eyes. At the same time, there were no age-related wrinkles or age spots on the face. The sight of such a face caused an instinctive rejection of its unnatural nature.

Badly. From the blow that the necromancer struck, the maximum possible for him at the moment, without paralyzing pain, an ordinary person would turn into a dried mummy. However, shinobi, probably because of the chakra, were much more resistant to his magic. The appearance of the corpse and his experience told him that in order to finish off this kunoichi in the same time, he would need to pass through three times the flow of power. As it was, not only did she survive, but she might even have been able to return to battle if Kushina had given her time to recover.

"What the hell happened to her?" Genma stared at kunoichi's face in shock.

It's time. The necromancer had long thought out what and how he would serve under the guise of a new Kekkei Genkai and was just waiting for an opportunity.

"Shiton."

The adults turned to see the child suddenly speak.

"The release death? What do you mean, Naruto? Kushina sat down next to her son again.

"I discovered this effect after the revival of the hearth chakra. Called Shiton. I think it's Kekkei Genkai." giving out an uncharacteristically long phrase to the shocked shinobi, Naruto fell silent.

The silence was broken by Namiashi returning from the underground river.

"We lost the Tatami."

The news announced by the child immediately faded into the background. The shinobi's faces darkened. It was not the first time they had lost friends, but it was impossible to get used to it.

Some time passed in silent order. The bodies of the attackers, like the Tatami, were sealed in scrolls. Kunai, shuriken and other throwing iron were collected, restoring ammunition.

The group that attacked them, apparently, came by the river, although it remains unclear how the shinobi overcame a very rough current. On the shore, they managed to quietly remove the Tatami that guarded this passage. The goal, as the mage understood from the rare remarks of adults, was to kidnap Naruto or Yui.

It was clearly not safe to stay in the open shelter. And after quickly sealing up their belongings, the party set off again.

As she hopped from branch to branch, Kushina thought about what had happened. Neither she nor Minato forgot or forgave what happened at the birth of Naruto. The birthplace of jinchuriki – the bearer of Bijuu – was guarded by a dense ring of several dozen ANBU – a group of elite shinobi that obeyed the Hokage. Later it turned out that all of them were killed, quietly and unnoticed, so that it became clear – a loner would not have coped. And under the mask of the attacker was the disfigured but easily recognizable face of Obito Uchiha – a former student of her husband, who everyone thought was dead…

In hot pursuit, then find out nothing was possible. But the Hokage wasn't going to stop. The slow, painstaking work of uncovering the plot began – Namikaze was sure that someone inside the village had betrayed him. It took years to find out all the circumstances – you could only contact the most trusted, closest people. It was also necessary to act as quietly and unobtrusively as possible, without giving likely observers a chance to understand that they could not be put on a false trail leading outside the village.

Long and painstaking work has borne fruit. Minato found out who was behind the attack. For the last few months, she had been waiting for her husband to signal that he would give the signal when the right moment came to take the one who was entrenched in the dungeons of their native village. And having received it, Kushina disappeared, taking the children with her, which could serve as a lever of pressure on the Hokage. They did not doubt the unscrupulousness of the one who opposed them. However, something clearly went wrong, and their hideout was discovered. And now kunoichi was nervous, not knowing what to expect. The abduction in the dungeon failed by pure chance, do not raise the Genma alarm then, do not suddenly find yourself in Naruto's improved genome…

The last thought made Kushina look at Naruto, who was once again hanging on Genma's back. Shiton. Dark the name and dark force. With a sigh, kunoichi admitted to herself that she was a perfect match for their equally gloomy son. She had never seen or heard of anything like it. But new genomes sometimes appeared, although this was very rare. One way or another, but her son was very lucky, his chances of surviving and making his way in this cruel world increased significantly.

The group stopped abruptly – apparently, the next one in front of Raido gave some kind of sign.

"Naruto, if the fight starts, I'll throw off the binding, be ready." in front of the belts was a cunning carbine, opening which, Genma could get rid of the burden that hinders him in one movement.

"Understood." the necromancer braced himself for another fight.

However, the battle did not happen. A dog leaped out to meet their small group, leaping through the branches of trees with the agility of a real ninja.

"I was sent by Kakashi. It's over. Danzo is dead." the mage stared at the talking pug with interest. He had seen it before as a child.

"Pakkun, what's wrong with Minato?" Kushina's voice was troubled. She had a seal with her, which served as a beacon for hiraishin Hokage, and they had not yet gone so far from the village that He could not reach them with technology.

"The old bastard beat him up pretty bad. There is no threat to his life, but the medic-nins are keeping him in the hospital, forbidding him to use his chakra for the time being."

Kushina let out a sigh of relief. The axe she'd been feeling lately was finally gone. Every time, releasing Naruto outside of the house, she experienced fear – and will he return? Will it disappear, becoming a bargaining chip in the intrigues of a crazy shinobi who found out about Minato's actions? But it would be suspicious to keep him around all the time. Had to take risks. At last that danger was gone. And her husband is fine, too, coming out of a standoff with an extraordinary opponent, albeit battered, but intact. Even though Danzo must have sensed something at the last moment when he sent them after them, there was nothing he could do about it.

The group was returning to Konoha.

*** * ***

The previous week was a rough one for Namikaze Minato. The long-running plan to eliminate the internal enemy was coming to its climax, forcing to cut down on sleep, trying to simultaneously perform the duties of the Hokage, without showing anything out of the daily routine, and prepare for the inevitable attack. And then there was the fight.

Shimura Danzo was head of Root, a small organization that is hidden in the structure of the ANBU, about which I knew very limited circle of people. Their main task was to solve all sorts of dirty problems that inevitably arose in the work of the Hokage. Eliminate your own. Operations that expose other hidden villages. These shinobi were used when it was necessary to arrange the case so that nothing could lead to Konoha and Hokage. The survival of performers has always been secondary.

Danzo created this nasty organization even when the second Hokage, Tobirama Senju, and all this time was its undisputed leader. However, something changed in the old man's mind over time. Minato's hair was moving as he read what they were able to extract from the Root archives. For some reason, imagining himself the only one who knows what Konoha needs, Danzo came up with some crazy plans to protect her, in fact, only weakening the power of the village. Lose a Kage-level shinobi, the strongest jinchuriki, dozens of elite ANBU shinobi, just to re-print the Bijuu in a vessel that only obeys him? Invent a complex, multi-year plan to destroy the Uchiha clan, simply because they have become too influential in the eyes of the old man? Other than insanity, the Hokage was not able to call it. Fortunately, the last plan did not have time to fully implement. And how many dirty secrets of the Root remained unknown? The archives and underground bases were covered with the most complex fuin and traps. It was not always possible to remove them, leaving the contents intact. To top it off, Danzo was subject to dozens of fanatically loyal shinobi, whose brains were thoroughly cleaned, and his madness did not affect the skills of an outstanding schemer. It took a lot of effort to replay it.

In battle, the old man also found something to surprise. Sharingan, who knows where extracted and transplanted instead of a long-lost eye. The hand of some monster, also replacing a once-crippled limb. And the skills honed over the years – Danzo clearly did not give up training, burrowing into the bases of the Root. The fight was hard for the Hokage. Fortunately, he managed to bring his signature technique to its logical conclusion.

Rasengan was a sphere of many wildly rotating vortices of chakra that caused terrible damage when they collided with a target. The main advantage of this technique was that there was no need to fold the seals – it was performed on a clean control. And recently, Minato was able to weave in the sphere of futon chakra in the air – after receiving what he called Rasenshuriken. The resulting technique had tremendous destructive power. The Hokage himself could have suffered from it, if not for being a sennin – a person who can use a special natural chakra, which brings his resistance to damage to an unattainable level by other shinobi.

This trump card decided the fight. Danzo was not prepared to withstand such a destructive technique, and even combined with Hiraishin, which made Minato ubiquitous on the battlefield.

The joy of victory was overshadowed by losses. Not all of his closest associates were able to survive the carnage in the dark corridors of the underground bases. And his faithful bodyguard, who is the Hokage completely trusted, was killed while standing on guard in defense of his family.

And now, when he was summing up the results of that crazy week, Kushina, who came to visit him in the hospital, gave out the stunning news - his heir has a Kekkei Genkai.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Minato looked at his son sitting across from him. The Hokage rarely attended Breakfast, usually leaving for work before the children woke up, but today he wasn't going anywhere – he deserved a day off.

"Naruto, your mother says that you have shown some strength..." Minato began, looking at his son carefully.

"Yes. Shiton."

"The release death? Loud name. And why did you choose it?"

"Because it allows me to pull the life out of the living and control the corpses."

"To manage corpses?!" Kushina, who was listening to the conversation with interest, dropped her chopsticks in surprise.

"Yes."

"Anything else?" Minato frowned, surprised by the last possibility his son had mentioned.

"Pull life heals me."

Wow, at the same time weapons and armour. An experienced shinobi could not but appreciate the advantages of such power.

"Why didn't you tell us before?" Minato would have scowled, but he knew his son didn't care.

"No time. I found out what I could."

"How did you know about the treatment?" mother couldn't help but notice this moment.

"Accidentally scratched and saw that the wound healed very quickly." Warcaster had the answer ready.

"I want you to show me everything after breakfast." Minato received an affirmative nod in response.

The rest of the meal passed in silence, each of them thinking about his own thoughts.

Leaving the house a few minutes later, Warcaster headed for the exit of property.

"Where are you going?" Minato called out to his son.

"To the city park. I trained there."

"What's wrong with being here?"

"What do you suggest we destroy?" The necromancer replied, waving his hand around.

Looking around at the well-tended shrubs and flowerbeds that Kushina had worked hard on, Minato was forced to admit that his son was right. If they destroyed anything here, they would both get a lot from an angry woman.

"All right, let's go."

They quickly reached the outskirts of Konoha. Here, not far from the wall, was a large piece of forest, which was called the park. There were a lot of unnamed glades scattered around it, used for training by random shinobi, and official numbered polygons assigned to individual teams. Following the confident lead of his son, ten minutes later, the Hokage found himself in one of these glades.

This place Warcaster found and prepared in advance, creating the illusion of training to master the declared forces, the benefit after the sixth year he was allowed to move freely around the city.

A secluded clearing was surrounded by dried-up trees with partially decayed leaves. The grass didn't look very healthy either, and the bushes that grew around it could have been used as kindling for a fire – the magic had dried them clean. To complete the grim picture, the wind carried the stench of corpses to the Hokage.

"I think the rabbit has gone bad." Warcaster thought it necessary to explain, having also smelled it.

"Rabbit?"

"Yes. I used it to test how my power works on animals. And then I found out about the bodies on it."

This place might have made a painful impression on anyone else, but Minato had seen too many far more gruesome images than the devastation his son had caused.

"Let's start with the rabbit, then."

With a nod, Warcaster directed his power at the dead animal hidden in the bushes. Raising corpses in its simplest form was a first - round spell, and it was given to him now without much effort. As for strength, it would be able to lift a human corpse, but not someone bigger. It was also difficult to control a few zombies. There was, however, one caveat. Although the full version of the spell, which reached the third circle, allowed you to throw into battle at least a skeleton that had lain in the ground for centuries, the simplest version required a fresh corpse – magic needed a relatively whole body, since the mechanisms that provide movement worked similarly to a living organism. Dead muscles contracted, transferring the force to the ligaments and tendons, causing the bones to move. If there are no muscles or something else missing, you will end up with an indistinctly swarming lump of dead flesh. However, according to the legend, he could not find out yet.

There was a rustling in the bushes where the animal's body was hidden, and the branches of the bushes shook, but nothing else happened.

"It's not working. It doesn't move as it should." the necromancer pretended to complain to his father.

"Go on, I'll take a look." Minato parted the branches, peering deep into the bushes.

A most disgusting sight met his eyes. The animal's corpse, which had lain for several days in the open air, was thoroughly gnawed by the local inhabitants, the remains of rotten flesh hanging viciously on the bones. To complete the picture, the rabbit's empty eye sockets were crawling with whitish worms. And all this nightmare was moving, something pulsing under the remains of the animal's skin, the bones left from the paws scrabbling on the ground, trying to move the body.

However, the experienced shinobi quickly suppressed his disgust, analyzing what he saw. A few minutes later, he voiced his opinion:

"It seems that in order for you to move a corpse, it must be intact, so that the muscles can work as they did in life."

"Clearly." The mage nodded in satisfaction. Father confirmed Warcaster's opinion of his own acumen.

"Tell me, how do you manage it? Do you move individual limbs?" Minato kept in mind the puppet techniques so popular in Suna.

"No. I just give him a wish for where he should move. How to move, he knows himself from somewhere."

"Clearly." Minato didn't really have much to say, but it was unlikely that his son would be able to tell him more "let's look at the other possibilities." with these words, the Hokage put an end to the convulsions of the unfortunate rabbit, incinerating it with a ball of fire that fell from his hand.

With a nod, Warcaster led his father a little further away, to where the bushes were still alive. Under his father's watchful gaze, he took out his knife, lightly scratched the outside of his palm, and showing Minato's hand, grabbed a branch of a Bush, while simultaneously applying Absorption of Life .

As Minato watched, the Bush turned into a tangle of dried branches that he had already seen, and the scratch on his son's arm was overgrown.

"Only works when you touch it?" he asked.

"No, but with distance, the efficiency drops very quickly. The word "as yet", as well as the information about the first circle spell "Reaping", which solves this problem, and which he has already managed to restore, Warcaster, of course, held back.

After asking Tom a few more questions about his abilities, Minato thought for a while. His son's abilities were very strange. Nowhere did he find any mention of any abstract "life" that could be extracted from the living. His ability to sense chakra, granted by the skills of sennin, said that when Naruto uses his strange techniques, the natural chakra that permeates the entire world around him begins to seethe, colliding with something alien that the Hokage could not really feel. He had never seen anything like it. It will be necessary to discuss this issue with the toad sages of Mount Myoboku that taught him the art of sennin.

"I can't remember anything like it in the archives" Minato said slowly "and although I'll look for it again, I think you'll have to learn it yourself. I can't help you."

"Clearly." It would be strange if my father gave a different answer.

"I'll figure out how and where to organize your training" Minato added, looking around at the dead bushes and trees "before you ruin the entire park."

"Thank you." Not that he needed that kind of training, but Warcaster couldn't figure out how to explain it yet. Perhaps in the future it will be possible to refer to some knowledge that came with practice.

Kushina was looking forward to the return of her husband and son. She really wanted to see for herself what he could do, but she couldn't leave Yui. Fearing Danzo's spies, they didn't get a babysitter, and it wasn't wise to leave the child with the dim-witted and fragile shadow clones. It was necessary to agree with Mikoto about supervision in advance.

Finally, she saw Minato and Naruto walking along the path that led from the gate. The sight made her laugh in spite of herself. Minato walked with a thoughtful look, lost in his thoughts, his gaze absently searching around, not stopping at anything. And next to his small copy was Naruto with exactly the same expression on his face.

When they reached home, Naruto almost immediately went to the training ground, and Kushina attacked her husband with questions. He told her everything he had seen and thought about, holding back only the description of the crawling corpse of a rabbit. After consulting for a while, they came to the conclusion that Naruto can practice controlling his ability at home. To do this, it would be enough to regularly place D-rank missions to mass catch some small rodents that their son could kill and then revive. To practice the same training on large targets, Minato was going to regularly make trips outside of Konoha with his son, hunting big game. Kushina was a little sorry for The animals, but the development of the abilities that her son's life would depend on was much more important to her.

The plan announced to Warcaster on his return to the house did not Elicit any comment. So with a nod of agreement, he changed the subject,

"Mom, teach me fuinjutsu."

Falling asleep in his bed in the evening, the mage thought that sometimes it is very convenient to be a child. Showed abilities that no one else in this world has? What a gifted boy. No one would suspect the son of an experienced mage who had grown up in front of his eyes. Of course, he didn't need any new training in slaughtering animals – the necromancer had a lot of experience manipulating his power-but he was already thinking about how he could benefit from this duty. Thinking about these ideas, the mage fell asleep.


End file.
